The Black Wizard
by Azraeos
Summary: A mysterious noise starts a chain of events that propels Harry and Hedwig to another world. He encounters wizards, dwarves, male Veela . . . and discovers that the only way for him to get back home is to complete a dangerous mission.
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer: The ownership of the characters, the settings, etc, belong to J.K Rowling and J.R.R Tolkien. I own nothing except what my imagination creates.

**Chapter One The Sound **

It was a dreary day at Number 4 Private Drive. Mostly because it was boring, and partly because it was raining, which meant Harry couldn't go outside to alleviate his boredom. All in all, it meant for a most unpleasant morning so far and looked to continue into an even more horrid afternoon. This fact wasn't helped at all by Harry's relatives, who were being even more annoying and nasty than usual. It wasn't because of anything they said or did. No, it was what they _implied_ that mattered. They managed to convey to Harry, without speaking, exactly what they thought of him, either that or they ignored him completely. This usually wouldn't matter to Harry because he liked it that they ignored him, but being stuck at Private Drive with nothing to do, without being able to go outside . . . Harry sighed. This was his summer life.

He was lying on his back in bed with his hands folded beneath his head, staring up at the whitewash ceiling. Dimly, he noticed that at some point or other someone had plastered a hole up there, because the white colour looked less white and more drab in that spot.

He was just about to bend over to pry apart the loose floorboard under his bed, when he heard a tapping sound. Immediately, he looked towards the window, assuming it was an owl delivering a letter, but there was nothing there. Confused, Harry scoured his room determined to find the source of the consistent noise, but to his frustration, he couldn't pinpoint its location. He cocked his head to the side, trying to listen to the direction it was coming from. The only clue he got was that it seemed somewhat hollowed, as though whatever it was tapped from behind something. Like a cupboard!

Harry rushed towards his wardrobe and yanked it open, half expecting Dobby to fall out. But nothing! The noise still continued for some time before it gradually died away.

Harry was sure of one thing. He knew the noise must have been of magical origin. So it was either a magical creature or some type of magical object. Perhaps it was his old pocket sneakoscope? Perhaps after a few years the magic runs out of the thing and it starts tapping to get your attention so you could recharge it? Like a magical battery.

Somehow, Harry found it hard to convince himself.

Another hour passed.

Harry spent the time reciting the twelve uses of dragon's blood, his ABC's, the times table, reading his divination book of all things, and whistling a tune that he just made up consisting of six different musical notes in various placements. It was only after his nonsensical soprano performance that Harry realised the sun had peeked through some cloud cover, and that it was no longer raining. Resisting the urge to whoop like an idiot Harry quickly donned a pullover from out of his cupboard and on a second thought grabbed the umbrella as well. Couldn't hurt to be prepared after all.

Harry went down the stairs as fast as he could without sounding like an elephant, and just as quickly went back up them again. Wouldn't do to forget his wand.

Now armed for battled against Mother Nature, as well as any dark wizards, if they were lurking about, Harry stepped across the threshold of Number 4's door and walked out. Freedom at last!

He took a moment to sniff at the air. It smelled fresh and dewy and English. The soggy grass beneath his sneakers only served to provide Harry's nose with a more natural scent. Jarringly, he was reminded of Hogwarts. Which was something, as Private Drive had never done _that_ before. There was nothing artificial about Hogwarts. No pollution, no muck, only nature and magic, and Harry found it surprising that the after smell of rain- wash should make him feel that way.

Shrugging dismissively, he stalked down Private Drive and into Magnolia Crescent. He only remembered when he got there that this was the very street where he'd first met Sirius.

_Sirius_.

Shaking his head to clear it of any unpleasant memories that were fast clogging up, Harry turned towards his favourite swing in the park, the one he always went to sit and think in. It didn't occur to him that the swing might still be wet from the rain, and that his bottom would be soaked to freezing if he sat on it. Well, at least that's what _would _have happened, if a tapping noise didn't distract him.

_There it is again!_

Harry froze in mid-step.

It was louder this time. A _lot_ louder. Amplified almost. Sonorusfied maybe.

"TAP-TAP-TAP-TAP-TAP!"

Harry spun around! He was sure he'd heard the sound right behind him. He peered at the empty space, not noticing or sensing anything. It could be someone with an invisibility cloak, he supposed. But he wasn't certain. Just to be sure, though, Harry rushed forward at the empty air, hoping that if anyone _was_ under an invisibility disguise, they would be too surprised to move out of the way, and so Harry would run into them. But there was nothing there. Harry stood with his arms outstretched in front of him, feeling a bit stupid. _Of course it isn't someone with an invisibility cloak. What sort of person can make a sound like that?_ Maybe it wasn't a person?

More than a little jumpy at this revelation, Harry tried listening to the direction of the noise, but this time it seemed impossible to find its location, let alone its source. It seemed to be coming from everywhere at once it was so loud. He wondered why no one was sticking their heads out of their windows to investigate; it was what the residents of Little Whinging seemed to be good at, spying.

Then it hit him! What if he was the only one who could hear it? It would certainly explain why the Dursley's hadn't complained about the noise when it first appeared. They probably couldn't hear it. Maybe only wizards could hear it? Maybe it was a similar sort of thing with the entrance at the Leaky Cauldron, where wizards could see it but muggles couldn't.

But what was it? 

Harry noticed it was getting progressively faster. In fact, it was now so fast that it almost sounded like one continuos drone. And on top of that, a wind had picked up. The sort of wind that came just before –

_Spatter!_

Wonderful.

_Spit, spat, plop. Spit, spat, plop. Spit, spat, plop. Spitspat, plop. Spit, spatplop. Spitspatplopspitspatplopspitspatplopspitspatplopspitspatplopspitspatplop!_

Harry quickly put up his umbrella before he was soaked through. It was now raining so hard, and the wind was whipping around so much, that Harry could hardly see anything because the water was running along his glasses and his clothes kept getting plastered to his face. If only he was allowed to do magic over the holidays. He could really do with an _impervious_ charm right about now.

Harry continued listening to the noise, which now sounded more like one long perpetual moan. His ears hurt. It was like standing right next to a sound amplifier with rock music. It was as though the sound was right in his ears. It was getting so painful.

Harry dropped the umbrella, not caring about getting wet, and sank to his knees in excruciating agony, clasping his hands over his throbbing eardrums. It didn't help!

He cried out in pain. He didn't know how long he hurt, but he wished and pleaded and begged for it to stop. Then, miraculously, it did.

Slowly, Harry released the death grip from his ears and bought his hands to dangle by his sides. His breathing was shallow; he must look like a drowned rat. But that wasn't what held his attention. No, it was the fact that he was now deaf that held his attention. Harry couldn't hear anything. Not the heavy rainfall, nor the sound of the biting wind, nor the rumble of lightening in the distance. Nothing! It was like someone had just turned the sound off. Not a pleasant experience. He was afraid that that noise, whatever it was, must have caused him to loose his hearing. He hoped it was only temporary and that Madame Pomfrey could fix it when he returned to Hogwarts.

Something touched his shoulder.

Harry cried out in surprise, jumped up and swirled around, whipping his wand out of his pocket as he did so.

Standing in front of him was Remus Lupin, a look of shock on his lined, young face. Next to him was one other, Nymphadora Tonks, who looked more than a little concerned.

The professor started saying something. Harry was positive he spoke his name, but as for the rest of the words; he couldn't make them out.

Harry shook his head, pointed to his ears, and shrugged. He hoped he got the message across. A second later Harry could see that he hadn't as Lupin had an expression of deep puzzlement on in his face. But wait! Just because Harry was deaf, didn't mean he couldn't speak, could it? He felt like such an idiot.

"Professor I can't hear!" he told Lupin, hoping he didn't sound as desperate as he felt.

Lupin frowned, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. Tonks looked bewildered. Lupin tried communicating again, this time with hand gestures.

Eventually, Harry discerned that Lupin was trying to tell him to put his wand away. He didn't even notice that he had practically stuck it in Lupin's eyeball.

Harry nodded, and was just about to pocket it when he had a sudden suspicion. What if they were Death Eaters on Polyjuice?

"What's my patronus form?" he asked Lupin.

Lupin smiled and quite distinctly mouthed "Prongs."

Harry sighed in relief and pocketed his wand. Just as he did the sound started up again, even more loudly and agonizingly than before. He screamed, and fell to the ground, not even trying to block his ears. He just continued screaming in pain. It hurt!

_It hurtithurtithurtithurtithurtithurtithurtithurtithurtithurtithurtithurt_! So much pain! Just before he slipped into darkness, he registered Lupin and Tonks' looks of surprise and horror as they bent over him. His last thought was: _I'm not deaf at all_.


	2. The Lightening Bolt

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or the Lord of the Rings. They belong to J.K Rowling and J.R.R Tolkien. 

A/N: I'm sorry the last chapter was so short. It was really more of a prologue than anything else. I'm also sorry I didn't explain in the last chapter exactly when this story is taking place. It is just a couple of weeks after Harry's fifth year.

Thank you to my one reviewer. I had expected more, but . . . hopefully I'll get some for this chapter.

Chapter Two ----- The Lightening Bolt

"Remus calm down, he is fine now. Madame Pomfrey is the best mediwitch I know. Now, can you tell me what happened? From the beginning if you please."

Remus, Tonks and Dumbledore made an odd trio as they gathered around the hospital bed of the unconscious Boy-Who-Lived. Most would agree that a werewolf, a metamorphmagus, and the most powerful wizard in the world shouldn't be bothered with a dead looking sixteen year old. Most would claim that they should have more important things to do. But all three cared about the black-haired teenage boy currently snoozing away, and that was something they did have in common.

Remus took a deep breath. "Alright. Tonks and I were positioned in our places. I was sitting on the wall outside Harry's house and Tonks was standing across the street next to a car." Dumbledore nodded. He managed to imply with that single gesture that he understood what Remus was saying, and also to urge him to continue. A typical Dumbledorish mannerism. "Then Harry came out of his house, walking towards Magnolia Crescent, and we followed him."

Tonks continued, "He started acting kind of odd." She looked to Remus as if to confirm her statement, and Remus nodded in agreement. "He was in the park when he just stopped in mid-walk. He sort of started looking around, and then he ran in one direction with his arms outstretched in front of him, like he was trying to catch something."

"Hmmm." Dumbledore stated, and Tonks and Remus looked towards him, perusing his face.

"You know something Albus." Remus stated.

Dumbledore shrugged slightly. "I don't presume to know anything. But I do guess that Harry might have heard a noise that, compelled him, shall we say, to assume that someone was near him under an invisibility cloak." Dawning looks appeared on the two younger wizard's faces. "But I do not think that is what caused him to collapse," Dumbledore prompted.

"Right. Well it wasn't," said Remus. "Anyway, it started raining rather heavily, not to mention, it was a bloody gale out there! I could barely see for the cloak was sticking to my face – "

"They should really invent water-repelling invisibility cloaks Dumbledore," Tonks interrupted, grumbling.

"Ahem," Dumbledore announced, eyes twinkling.

Tonks blushed. "Right. Sorry Remus."

"Any_way_," Remus stressed, with a half-hearted glare in Tonks' direction. "He continued looking around, if I didn't know better, I'd say he was actually _looking_ for something. But then again, what could possibly be interesting out in an ordinary muggle park?"

"Certainly not three wizards, two of which were under invisibility cloaks," Dumbledore said, a crinkle in the corner of his eyes. Remus blushed. Tonks sniggered.

"Yes, as I was saying, er, after searching the park somewhat, he started clutching his ears, like he was in pain. Then he dropped to his knees and cried out. That was when Tonks and I decided to approach him. He stopped yelling by the time we got there. I put my hand on his shoulder and he – "

"He just went mental, jumped around, drawing his wand at us. Nearly poked Remus's eye out. You should have seen his face Dumbledore, it looked . . . twisted."

Dumbledore's eyes became sombre, but at the same time managed to imply an unconscious awareness of the situation, as though he knew something the other wizards didn't. This was another one of those typical Dumbledore traits. "What do you mean by that Tonks?"

"Well, he looked so scared."

"Terrified more like." Remus said.

"Then what happened?"

"We tried telling him to put his wand down, but he told us he couldn't hear anything."

Dumbledore's entire body seemed to come alive. "You say he couldn't hear anything?"

"Yes." Remus said. "Do you know what that means?"

The headmaster didn't answer for a while, allowing the build of exited tension and suspense to accumulate among his younger brethren. Nevertheless, when he finally did provide an answer, it was decidedly anti-climatic. "No I do not," Dumbledore chose to ignore the looks of surprise on his younger colleague's faces, "and then?"

"And then, when he realised we weren't Death Eaters and put his wand away, he fell to the ground and started screaming. I swear he must have been under cruciatus Albus. It was just such a horrible sound."

"Then he lost consciousness." Dumbledore guessed.

"Yes."

"Hmm. I will have to think on this somewhat."

"Albus, you don't think it's anything to do with Voldemort do you?"

"I do not believe so Remus. What possible reason could he have to take away Harry's hearing, other than the obvious pleasure he would get from Harry's pain. But I don't think that is entirely reason enough. Nevertheless, I will stew on this dilemma. Hopefully Harry can tell us something when he awakes. In the meantime, why don't the two of you stay and watch over him. After all, you are still on Harry duty you know."

The young wizards blinked. "Er, good idea Dumbledore," said Tonks, puzzling over the abrupt change of subject.

"Well I must be going then. Good day to you Remus, young Tonks." He nodded to each in turn and swept out of the hospital wing, leaving behind two frustrated, yet oddly relieved wizards in his wake.

Dumbledore dropped the pleasant expression on his face as soon as the door to the hospital wing was closed. Instead he adopted one of fear; an expression so unlike Dumbledore to display that if anyone was to walk by at that moment they would be convinced that it wasn't the venerable headmaster that was leaning against the double door entrance of the hospital wing, but a Death Eater on Polyjuice Potion. Luckily for Dumbledore, no one tended to be around much during the summer holidays, not even many of the teachers.

Dumbledore sighed, tiredly, and made his way down to the dungeons, or more specifically the kitchens, but if he should happen upon Severus while he was there, well, all the better. As he stepped into the kitchens, politely ignoring and declining the looks of adoration and offers of various foods – though he did accept a treacle tart – he asked the delightful little creatures for some hot chocolate and marshmallows – his favourite drink when he wished to sit and think – and then backed out of the suddenly stifling kitchens and their eagre-to-please occupants, and made his way to his office.

"Snickers," he told the gargoyle and it jumped aside even before he'd finished saying the password, recognising him as the head inhabitant of its office, of which there were several; namely being the Sorting Hat, Fawkes, and the portraits of all the previous headmaster's of Hogwarts. Not to mention being the current headmaster of the school itself allowed for some of the more delightful benefits it could offer.

Contrary to the Weasly twins' belief, only Dumbledore knew about more of the various hidden or magical places in Hogwarts and its grounds and forests; he also had the advantage of instant admittance in nearly all of the portrait holes in the castle – without having to know the passwords – which included more than just the house common rooms.

Dumbledore made his way up the escalator and into his office. No matter what anyone might think, Dumbledore found his office rather bare, especially now that a quarter of his knick-knacks were destroyed. But he didn't hold anything against Harry for that. He understood well, what the pain of grief could often force people to do.

Dumbledore settled his hot chocolate drink on his desk, then walked towards the Sorting Hat and plucked it off the shelf. It was time for a little chat.

Seating himself in his squashy desk chair, he took a large gulp of his drink, and plonked the patched old hat on his head.

"Hello Albus."

"Hello Hat. I hope you can help me. I have a bit of a problem."

"Ah, yes. Yes I was wondering when you were finally going to ask me."

Dumbledore would have frowned, if the Sorting Hat had eyes to see it. It was becoming entirely too smug nowadays, probably from having the privilege to sit in the venerable headmaster's office and acquiring information that no one else was privy to. Really, it would have made a fantastic spy, if it had legs.

"Now, now Albus, that wasn't very nice."

Dumbledore felt his face heat up. "I cannot help it Hat. I'm used to using Occlumency and thinking whatever I want, just like you cannot help but use Legilimency, and having no control over it. But I have to take my mind shields down when I talk to you, otherwise we won't be able to communicate, will we?"

"Understandable, understandable."

"So you know then?"

"Of course. Wizards in Godric's time used to experiment with it all the time."

"They actually –? " 

"Oh no, nothing like that. No, they never managed to find out how it works. All they knew was that it targeted specific wizards, and hoisted them away."

"Were they ever seen again?" Dumbledore asked, his voice shaky.

"I don't really know. It wasn't a topic that was discussed particularly."

"So there was something you weren't privy to?" If voices could twinkle, Dumbledore's would have been doing so. In any case, his eyes were doing it for him.

"Humph!" said the Sorting Hat.

"I apologise Hat."

The Hat sniffed. "Apology excepted."

"Now, tell me everything I don't know."

The Hat appeared to be making itself comfortable on Dumbledore's head. Just this was indication enough to the headmaster that it was settling in for a long discussion. "Well of course I am." The Hat sounded offended. "This isn't a subject to be taken lightly, you know?"

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be stupid Albus, you have nothing to apologise for this time." Dumbledore felt rather like a chastised child who'd just gotten caught with his fingers in the cookie jar. "Well I am a thousand years older than you Albus," The Hat responded, knowledgeably.

"You were saying?" Dumbledore prompted.

"Alright then. Really, I hardly talk to anyone all year, the least you can do is accommodate me somewhat." Before Dumbledore could answer, the Hat began: "Where was I? Right. Well, as you know, the phenomena picks a certain wizard or witch – "

"Never a muggle?"

"Of course never a muggle! They wouldn't survive the process. No, it was always a magic person back in Godric's day. And no matter how rare the event was, it actually happened twice in Godric's time, the second time to a very good friend of his too. But then again, Merlin was leap-frogging all the time anyway, so they could have just mistaken the phenomena with _that_."

"But you doubt it?"

"Certainly. The events leading up to the disappearances were too similar to be mistaken for any other cosmic occurrence."

"But, did anyone have any idea as to where and why they were taken?" Dumbledore sounded like he'd wanted to ask that question for a while now.

"Nobody knows why they were taken. Perhaps they were in the wrong place at the wrong time? Or perhaps fate ordained it from the moment of their births? I don't know. As to where they were taken? There were theories."

"Being?"

"Well the first theory explored the idea of a space, time warp. Could take you to a particular location in time and space."

"You mean a distant galaxy."

"Not exactly. More like an alternate universe or an alternate dimension, if you like. I believe they study something like that in the Ministry of Magic.

"For certain. But they never do get very far in their pursuit."

"Albus!" said the Hat, sounding both shocked and admiring. "You've been digging into unsuspecting people's minds again. For shame!"

"Why thankyou. I do like to keep on my toes. Now the other theory?"

"Right. The other theory is that it takes you to an exact location, an exact alternate dimension."

"You mean only one."

"Yes. There are most likely thousands, if not millions of alternate dimensions. But this theory focuses on their only being one, mostly likely because the same thing happens every time the wizards disappear. But you already know about that, what with the Potter boy going through the same thing."

"You don't believe there is just one?" Dumbledore's voice was filled with dread.

"No," The Hat stated, bluntly. "I happen to believe – from what I'd garnered from conversations I've eavesdropped in over the years – it is more of a whirlpool between the fabric of realities, rather than just a gateway from this dimension to one other."

Dumbledore sighed.

"I know it will be harder to find the boy this way Albus, but you probably will. There's never been a challenge you haven't mastered yet. And you can't interfere!" said the Hat at once. "It will come for him, and only him. He will be taken, and there's nothing you can do to stop it. Even you aren't as powerful as the entire mysteries of the universe."

"But you just said, that I could master it."

"Yes, but only after the act is accomplished. He will come back Albus. I have faith in you."

"You're so certain he will return."

"With you looking out for him? Oh, without a doubt."

"But there must be something I can do _now_."

"Well . . ." said the Hat.

"What is it Hat? You know something you aren't telling me."

"Now you know what if feels like to be everyone else when they're talking to you."

"Hat!"

"Alright, alright." The Hat paused. "I suppose it could work if you placed a sort of beacon on him; a tracking device. It'd probably be easier that way."

"Of course. And if that doesn't work, I presume I can always track him with a treasured object of his?" The Hat grew silent. "Thankyou Hat."

Dumbledore stood and returned the frayed hat back to its perch. Grabbing his now cold chocolate drink, he made his way out of his office; the curious portraits not even pretending to be asleep. In fact, most of them looked rather annoyed. Dumbledore inwardly chuckled. They hadn't been able to hear his conversation with the Sorting Hat because it was internal. He would probably be getting a lot of disgruntled complaints in the days to come.

Dumbledore stepped onto the escalator, knowing to prepare himself for the jump off. Just as he reached the back of the gargoyle he shot off to the side and undumbledoreishly stumbled into the secret doorway concealed with disillusionment charms. Straightening his hat and thinking he had nothing to blush over, as no one was there to see him fall from powerful wizard to staggering idiot, he proceeded to step through the door, which closed with an ominous sounding clunk behind him.

"The hospital wing." Dumbledore clearly stated, and the room spun. No one knew that the headmaster could travel to any cupboard in the school through this room. It acted rather like floo powder, except without the messy grates and tight squeeze of the fireplace. After a few seconds of dizzy whirling, the room grew still and Dumbledore walked out of the same door he'd come in.

Only the view had changed.

Instead of seeing the moving escalator and phoenix gargoyle, Dumbledore observed the interior of the hospital wing supply cupboard. Taking care not snag his robe on any potent potions – he didn't even want to think of the consequences of _that_ – he opened the door of the cupboard just a tad, and eyed the room as avidly as he could through the thin slit. He spotted Remus and Tonks chatting quietly by young Harry's bed with their backs turned to him. Giving a small sigh of relief and thankfulness, Dumbledore carefully and silently stepped out of the cupboard and then closed it gently behind him.

Dumbledore waved a hand at himself until he could no longer see the hand that waved or his body, and turned to the direction of the hospital door. Opening it as softly as he could he stepped out into the corridor, making sure to shut the door behind him. He took a moment to remove the invisibility charm and compose himself.

Really, all these secret doorways and sneaking around were beginning to mess with his head. He felt like he was still a student, taking an illegal stroll out of hours in the corridors. Not that the Sorting Hat had been any help with discouraging those kinds of thoughts from his head either, what with the way it scolded him earlier. Sometimes one hundred and fifty years of life felt entirely too young, when everything else in your vicinity was a lot older.

Opening the door again – this time making certain to create the believable amount of noise – he stepped in. Remus and Tonks immediately turned towards him.

"Dumbledore, good thing you came now, Harry's just starting to wake up."

"My timing is impeccable as always then. Tell me Nymphadora," he began, and Tonks bristled visibly. But Dumbledore wasn't worried. He knew he was the only one she permitted to call her that, "has anything unusual occurred while I was gone?"

"If by unusual you mean incoherent mumbling in his sleep, then no."

"Very good then."

"Professor Dumbledore?" said a tired sounding voice.

"Harry, don't try to sit up yet."

"Professor Lupin? Tonks?" Harry looked at the two older wizards. "Where am I? Why can't I see anything?"

"Sorry Harry," Remus leaned over Harry's bed and retrieved his glasses.

_But of course_, thought Dumbledore. _The glasses would be perfect. He would never take them off. They would go with him everywhere._ He would have to put an unbreakable charm on them also, to make sure they didn't shatter. He wondered if turning Harry's glasses into a portkey, and then activating said portkey when Harry reached the other world would work, but he immediately dismissed that idea. He wasn't sure if portkeys worked between worlds. They probably wouldn't have enough magic in them to perform their task anyway.

"Is that better?"

"Yes, thankyou Professor Lupin."

"If you don't mind I would like to speak with Harry alone for a moment."

Remus and Tonks nodded in understanding before standing up and walking out the door. As they passed Dumbledore, he told them: "You can come back in thirty minutes Remus, after you and Tonks collect Harry's things from his relatives house. Most of them are in his trunk, but I think he has some under a loose floorboard under his bed as well. In the meantime I just want to clarify some things with Harry." He probably shouldn't have said that last sentence because Remus looked at him oddly, but what was done was done, and nothing could change it now. "Good afternoon Harry," he said after Remus had shut the door.

"And you." The boy looked pinched and pale. "I suppose you want to know what happened," he said, sullenly.

"You mean when you heard an extremely loud suspicious noise, which caused you to temporarily loose your hearing?" Dumbledore asked innocently, enjoying the expression of shock and bewilderment adorning the Boy-Who-Lived's face.

"How did you . . ?" he said, stuttering a little. "Then you were there? You heard it as well?"

"Indirectly." Dumbledore responded. A puzzled frown crossed Harry's face. No doubt he was trying to work out the proper meaning of the word in its context.

"What do you mean Sir?"

Dumbledore sat on the chair beside Harry's bed, and pored steam from his wand and into his now hot chocolate drink. "I mean that I wasn't actually there, and I didn't hear anything, but that there have been accounts of what happened to you occurring all through time."

"There have?" said Harry, looking completely shocked and relived all at once. "So, what did happen Sir?"

"Ah. What is still happening to you Harry," began Dumbledore, observing Harry's fearful expression at the word _still_, "has not happened in some time. It is something that is so mysterious, so complex, that even the greatest wizards know nothing about it."

"I'm sorry Sir, but could you get to the point?" asked Harry, sounding annoyed.

"Tell me Harry. Have you ever heard of the term Alternate Dimension?"

Harry looked thoughtful, biting his lip. "You mean like in those muggle movies?"

Dumbledore chuckled. "I have not seen muggle move-_ees_, but if you can describe to me what you believe the term is."

"Well, it's like when there are different worlds alongside this one, isn't it?"

"I couldn't have placed it better myself."

Harry looked a bit apprehensive as he prepared to ask his next question. "What's this got to do with me?" he asked in a voice that gave away his knowledge of the answer.

"Harry. That sound, that wind, that rain, that lightning that you heard and saw, and your lack of hearing, which, thankfully you've gotten back, is all a result of a space time whirlpool choosing a person and opening up to take that person into another world."

There was silence for the longest of minutes. Harry sat there trying to process the thought of being sucked into a large black hole type thing, and never being seen again. "What do you mean it chooses a person?" he finally asked.

"I mean that you cannot stop it. It will follow you. It will take you to a different world. And it's best if you don't fight it, it will be less painful that way."

"What? Professor! Can't we do something?"

"I'm afraid there is nothing Harry. Merlin himself was sucked into one of these things. Your best option would be to ride it out. You'll need necessities to help you along, your trunk and your wand of course. I do not think that the Ministry of Magic can trace underage wizardry into different worlds. Just think of it as a holiday."

Harry stared at Dumbledore as if he'd just realised the headmaster was completely bananas. "H-holiday?" he stuttered, sounding slightly on the edge of hysterical. "I won't be on a holiday Sir, I'll be stuck forever in some magic forsaken place with only my trunk and my wand – "

"Don't forget Hedwig," Dumbledore interrupted, jovially.

Harry just stared at him.

"Harry, in this whole conversation have you ever heard me use the word 'forever' or any other term that implied eternity?" Dumbledore looked at him through the top of his glasses. "Hmm?"

"Are you saying I can come back?"

"Of course. _I_ will bring you back. And to make sure I can trace you, may I please have your glasses Harry?"

Harry took off his glasses and handed them to Dumbledore, who murmured something and tapped them twice with his wand. He gave them back to Harry, who placed them on his nose.

"Now that that's done you ought to prepare yourself. It will come for you soon, I imagine. Don't look panicked Harry," said Dumbledore calmly, after seeing Harry's expression of horror. "Everything will be fine, you'll see. In the meantime . . ." Dumbledore raised his hands and clapped twice, and to Harry's surprise a house elf materialised on the other side of his bed.

"Mr. Headmaster be clapping for Twinky?" said the house elf in such a high- pitched voice, that it stung Harry's sensitive eardrums.

"Yes, thankyou for your promptness Twinky." Harry was even more surprised to discover that house elves blushed.

"What can Twinky be doing for you Mr. Headmaster?"

"If you please Twinky, can you fill as much food and drink as you can into this?" Dumbledore held up what looked like a small moneybag. It wasn't that interesting; in fact it was rather drab. "It has been charmed with engorgement and lite-ning spells. So you should have no problem fitting in at least a barrel of food and drink into it."

Dumbledore handed the pouch over to the elf, who took it reverently, and disappeared with a small pop. "Now all we have to do is to sit and wait for Remus and Tonks to come back with your things and Hedwig. I daresay your relatives will be surprised when they see who's at their door."

Harry couldn't help but grin at the thought of that scenario. "Sir?"

"Yes Harry."

"Where is it going to come for me? Should I just wait here or should I go onto the grounds where no one will see?"

Both of Dumbledore's eyebrows rose in surprise, adding another few wrinkles to his already creased forehead. "You know Harry, I hadn't actually thought of that. But now that I am thinking about it, I would say outside is the best place because no one will be able to see you. We wouldn't want Remus to spot you and try to save you, getting himself killed in the process, do we?"

Harry's mouth dropped open, lines of horror appeared on his face. "Is that actually possible Sir?"

"Most certainly, Harry. This warp, this vortex, whatever you want to call it, was created for you, and for you alone. Anyone else trying to enter it will probably get zapped into a million microscopic pieces."

Just then a small pop heralded the return of the house elf.

"Your pouch Mr. Headmaster Sir. Twinky is filling it with foods and drinks."

"Thank you very much Twinky. I'm sure you did splendidly." The little elf blushed again before stuttering her thanks and disappearing.

"Well then Harry. I think you ought to get ready. Make sure you have a tight hold on your wand as well. When Remus and Tonks return I'll put the bag of food in your trunk then I'll teach you shrink it so it'll fit in your pocket. Less cumbersome that way. After all, we don't really know where you're going, do we? It's better to be prepared." Harry gulped.

Dumbledore tilted his head slightly."Ah, I think I hear Remus and Tonks approaching down the corridor now."

"All I'm saying is that you should have made it more permanent Remus. I mean he's only going to be stuck as a cockroach for fifteen minutes. I'd have done it for at least thirty."

"I shouldn't have done it at all. He's still Harry's uncle. Not to mention, I flouted the law for the Baitingof Muggle, well, whatever it's called."

Tonks burst out laughing. "Never thought you'd be one to loose your temper Remus."

"Oh shut it!"

The two wizards appeared at the doorway.

"Wotcher Harry! Here ya go. Took awhile convincing your relatives to let us in, but Remus here managed to persuade them.

The werewolf blushed.

"And, er, how exactly did you do that?" Dumbledore peered at Remus through his half spectacles. Remus muttered something about "crunch" and that's all Harry understood. "I never heard anything," Dumbledore told him, apparently fascinated by a stain on the wall opposite him.

"Er, right." Remus said, looking extremely uncomfortable and relieved at the same time.

"We'll just go then Dumbledore," said Tonks placing Hedwig in her cage next to his trunk. Then she took Remus's arm and propelled him out the door.

"Right, back to business then."

Dumbledore used the summoning charm and Harry's trunk and Hedwig (screeching in her cage) came soaring towards Dumbledore and came to a rest by his knees. Dumbledore opened his trunk and placed the moneybag carefully into a small compartment. Then he let Hedwig out of her cage, shrunk it, and placed that in there too.

"You never know what you might need the cage for," Dumbledore explained to Harry's questioning look. "Now then. To shrink, you simply tap it with your wand and say _Substrictus Minimus_. To expand, you tap it twice with your wand and say _Dilato Maximus_. You understand all that?"

"I think so."

"Excellent!"

"But Sir, what about Hedwig? Wouldn't she get blown away, or blasted away?"

Dumbledore tilted his head again and stared at the celing. "That's actually a good point. If she doesn't mind I can put her in your trunk, with plenty of air of course. You can release her upon your arrival."

Both males turns towards Hedwig, who had an expression of deep mistrust on her face.

"What do you say girl. I promise you won't be uncomfortable." Hedwig hooted grudgingly. Then shuffled across Harry's bed – a bit wonky-like. Owl talons really weren't meant to traipse across squishy mattresses– and came to rest by Dumbledore, who opened the trunk and gently placed Hedwig within. Then he closed the trunk and shrunk it again.

"I've placed a cushioning charm in there as well. If you suffer any bumps, she won't be able to feel it. Speaking of, would you like me to place one around your person?"

"That's probably a good idea." Dumbledore tapped him on the head with his wand and the next thing Harry felt was something like pillows surrounding him on all sides. "Thanks Professor."

"Not at all, Harry. Not at all."

Harry smiled awkwardly and began fiddling with the sheets beneath him. He really didn't want to ask the next quesition he had flicking through his thoughts, but he didn't exactly have a choice if Dumbledore was right about that _thing_ not leaving him alone. "Professor, I think, maybe, I should go now?"

Dumbledore sighed wearily, looking more old and tired than Harry had ever seen. "That is probably a good idea." He rose from his sitting position, and offered Harry a hand. Harry took it. "I'll make sure no one follows you. Good Luck, Harry Potter," he said, and with a small, secret smile and a twinkle in his eye, walked out of the hospital wing.

Harry took a deep breath. "Right then." He stood from the bed, stretching as hard as he could. Then he walked over to the shrunken trunk and picked it up and pocketed it along with his wand. He drew a breath, wandering if it would delay the arrival of the _thing _if he took a much needed trip to the nearest facilty. _Probably._ But Harry didn't exactly have an option here. It was either go to the loo or suffer an embarassing sitiuation later on in another world. He had sudden thought. _What if he landed in a girl's bathroom?_ Shuddering with the potential image, Harry made his way to the Hospital Wing lavaratories.

After flushing and washing his hands, Harry stood looking at himself in the mirror._Why do things always happen to me? Why can't they happen to Ron? _He continued gazing at himself for a few more seconds. "I guess it's time then."

Feeling as though he was walking through water, Harry stepped out of the hospital wing and made his way to the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest. He changed his mind along the way when, passing Hagrid's house, he noticed smoke coming out of the chimney. He couldn't risk the half-giant seeing him and rushing to his rescue since his hut was right next to the forest. So he settled on the Quidditch pitch. If anyone were to look at it from the castle, they wouldn't be able to see him on the ground, since wooden stands rose for twenty meters in the air all around the oval pitch. Also, the additional concealment of the house banners and house towers made for a lot more camouflage as well. Harry sat down near one of the scoring poles, and leaned against it.

Two hours passed. Harry had long ago stopped trying to guess the shape of the clouds. Besides, it was more than a little dark now, and he could just barely make them out.

Then it began.

"Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap."

Harry's entire body stiffened with a mixture of apprehension and excitement. Guessing on passed experience, Harry knew what was coming next. And sure enough:

_Spatter._

Little by little and bit by bit the tapping grew louder and less disjointed and the rain continued to fall heavier. A howling wind picked up, ruffling his clothes to extreme proportions. To be on the safe side Harry quickly pulled his wand and trunk out of his pocket and stuffed them down his shirt, which he then tucked into his pants, not caring how much of an idiot he must look like. He cared more for his wand and belongings.

The sound continued even louder, but not as painful as before. Harry remembered Professor Dumbledore telling him that if he didn't fight it, all will go smoothly, and it certainly looked that way.

Thunder rumbled heavily directly above him. In the split second it took Harry to move his head from his shoes to the sky, a lightening bolt exploded from the heavens and hit him head on.

Harry knew no more.

Please Review! I want to get a lot more than one this time!


	3. The Meeting

Disclaimer: You don't seriously think I own Harry Potter and The Lord of the Rings, do you? No! They belong to the esteemed Ms J.K Rowling and the venerable Mr J.R.R. Tolkien.

A/N: There are a couple (note: only a couple) of paragraphs in this chapter that I quoted not so directly from _Fellowship of the Ring, the novel_. What I mean is, that I muddled them around to include Harry into the events of the story, and to make it seem more believable. Those devoted Lord of the Rings fans who have read the book will recognise them.

Thankyou to my reviewers. Hope to hear from you again, and any new ones as well. (Hint hint!)

**Chapter Three: The Meeting **

The first thing Harry became aware of, was that he was freezing. He wasn't just more than a little cold; instead he seemed to be lying in temperatures way below the negative. For some reason Harry's brain felt this wasn't a good thing. Harry agreed, because he was sure he'd never felt so cold before in his life. And yet, he wasn't shivering, which was an odd thing.

He thought he remembered reading somewhere about it being so cold that you couldn't move your limbs, and Harry desperately prayed this was not the case. He tried flexing his fingers and toes, but there appeared to be no awareness left in them. Telling himself not to panic, he experimented a bit with his arm. The relief he felt when it responded was hard to describe.

Thinking quickly, Harry stuck his arm down the front of his shirt, hoping that whatever heat was left in his body would warm up his fingers so he could finally use his wand. It took a while, but he was eventually able to jiggle them around. He searched for his wand inside his shirt, and found it stuck between the front of his jeans. Then he began feeling for his miniature trunk. He discovered it lurking between the joint of his arm and shoulder. He moved it onto his stomach but didn't take it out. It was too cold to let Hediwg out of the trunk anyway. Once he got out of there however, it should be no problem.

Finally he opened his eyes to a black-clouded sky, with eerie metallic green tints. It was snowing. Harshly. It was also extremely windy. Harry hadn't felt any of it because his body was so numb. Harry also discerned – with a peculiar jolt in the region of his stomach – that he couldn't hear again. But he wasn't concerned this time, since he'd gotten back his hearing rather quickly before. Actually, what with everything that had happened (had he really been hit by a lightening bolt?) he thought it was a miracle he still had his glasses.

Slowly, painfully, Harry sat up in a crouch, pulling his wand out at the same time. Not for the first time did he realise how lucky he was to be a wizard, as he conjured some green flames to float directly in front of his body. He was very glad that conjuring fire by magic did not require wood.

After about fifteen minutes, he began to wonder why he wasn't warming up, as he knew the fire to be extremely hot. After half an hour he discovered the real reason that he wasn't able to feel the cold, and it wasn't because of being numb from it. No, it was because Dumbledore's cushioning charm was still in effect, protecting most of his body from the elements. Well, at least he didn't have to worry about developing hypothermia or frostbite. He felt very grateful to Dumbledore then, and not for the first time began wondering if the old man had somehow known about Harry's destination before hand.

Closing his eyes in expectation of the extremely biting wind and coldness, Harry counted to three before pointing his wand at his stomach.

"Finite Incantatum."

Immediately, the harsh, bitter wind flooded him and he started shivering madly. Conjuring four more green flames so that they made a circle around him, he settled on getting warm. Ten minutes later, he didn't feel the cold at all. In fact, it was getting a little too warm for his liking, so he settled on unshrinking his trunk and removing his black school robes and wizards hat, (which he put on straight away) and his precious Firebolt. He determinedly ignored the fact that it was Sirius who'd given it to him. He kept Hedwig inside. He would not be releasing her until he flew to less colder conditions.

He shrunk his trunk again and placed it in his robes, and then, with a negligent sort of wave of his wand, got rid of the flames. After making sure there was no residual fire anywhere, he put his wand in his robe pocket. As he did so, his hearing rushed back in full force. Harry cried out as the extra loud burst of whistling air and howling wind bombarded his sensitive ears.

Trying to ignore the throbbing of his eardrums, Harry clutched his Firebolt to his chest and proceeded forward. He'd only walked about five meters when his right foot fell through empty air. Hastily jerking back, Harry tried peering through the blizzard, but he couldn't see one foot in front of him. He kneeled down and reached out with his hand, feeling icy snow and jagged rock beneath his palm. He inched it forward until he felt nothing but air under his hand.

Then it came to him. He was on a mountain ledge. He could have walked right off of it! Of course he had his Firebolt, but still, it was a bit disconcerting that he hadn't known it.

He tried to think about what to do. If he flew through the blizzard then he might fly head on into another mountain, and if he flew downwards he might crash into a protruding ledge, or even the ground. And he had no particular desire to stay on the blistering, biting mountaintop either.

This was going to take some serious planning.

Eventually, Harry had an idea that might work. It required shooting hot blasts of air from out of his wand to clear the falling snow in front of his vision. Unfortunately, it also required him to fly extremely slowly. Something he was not keen on, but he had no other choice. He had to get off this mountain soon. He needed to release Hedwig so she could eat.

He mounted his broomstick and off he went. It worked beautifully – despite being tossed about like a rag doll in a washing machine – and about an hour later he was out of the blizzard and away from the mountain.

Harry found himself looking down on a picturesque landscape. To his left there appeared to be a bush of a forest. The vegetation there was denser than right below him, where a few trees dotted the, rugged, hilly landscape. To his far right Harry could just make out what looked like a black tower sticking straight up in the air. It looked ominous, and Harry decided not to fly that way at all unless some cloud cover obscured him. Behind him were yet more forests, and in front of him was what looked like a chain of tall mountains extending both left and right as far as he could see.

The world he got dumped in didn't appear to be too bad; in fact it looked positively peaceful. Harry wondered if there were any intelligent creatures here and if they spoke English. There would have to be (even if they didn't speak English) if that black tower was any indication. He also pondered on whether the world was entirely muggle or magical, or both. If it were muggle, he would have to hide his magic, no use scaring the inhabitants. If it were magical, he would fit right in.

Harry plunged straight down to the ground, laughing and whopping crazily. If he was to be stuck in an unknown world, at least he could have fun. He forgot about everything when on a broom, and he loved it. The wind in his face, his stomach, pleasantly summer-salting with the tilt of his broom, the wondrous, rapturous feeling in his heart as he tumbled in the sun-drenched atmosphere and left behind all problems and responsibilities and became, just Harry.

Eventually, Harry landed on a low ridge crowned with ancient holly-trees whose grey-green trunks seemed to have been built out of the very stone of the ground. Their dark leaves shone weirdly and their berries glowed an ominous blood red in the light of the setting sun. Now that Harry's euphoria of flying was over, he felt a bit nervous. What did he really know about surviving in the wilderness? Yes he had sustenance, but what about wild animals? What if there were some magical creatures here that wouldn't be bothered by stunning spells or impediment jinxes? He would have to sleep with one eye open. Or better yet, he could get Hedwig to watch over him. Owls were night creatures after all.

Speaking of which . . .

"_Dilato Maximus_!"

Harry opened his trunk and was nearly bowled over by a white ball of fluff that shot out at into his face, hooting angrily. How long had he been on that mountain?

"I'm sorry girl. I was unconscious." Hedwig bit his nose with her beak. "Ouch! I tried to hurry. I'm sorry all right. Merlin!"

Harry watched as Hedwig shot into the air and whizzed around angrily. "Don't be like that!" He'd never seen her so cross with him before. "You know, you kind of remind me of Pig when you fly that way."

Hedwig screeched hurtfully at him, but she did slow down her furious fighter pilot imitation.

"I'm really sorry Hedwig. Why don't you come down? I'll give you some water," he tempted.

Hedwig appeared to consider his request before swooping down to land on his shoulder. She ruffled her feathers a little pompously and settled on glaring at him with her large, yellow eyes.

"Please forgive me Hedwig," he begged his owl, as he rummaged through the food pouch and gave her some water from a flask. "You're my only friend in this place. We have to stick together."

She hooted softly before nipping his ear, and Harry knew he'd been forgiven. "Why don't you go look for something to eat?" he suggested.

Hedwig took off into the air. She remained within his sight for a good five minutes, before disappearing into the setting sun. Harry hoped she'd come back soon. He _really_ didn't fancy being alone in the dark in a strange world he knew nothing about.

Only ten minutes had passed since Hedwig left, and the light of the sky was greyer now, when Harry first heard what sounded like the wings of a million wasps. Bewildered, scared, and wondering if this were a common occurrence in this world, Harry stood up from his perch on a boulder and thought about casting the disillusionment charm on himself. He did cast it a few seconds later when he spotted a bunch of the biggest crows he had ever seen fly overhead. For some reason, they gave him an awful feeling. He hoped Hedwig didn't meet up with that lot.

Night had fallen a little while later by the time Hedwig showed up with half a dead mouse in her beak. Harry himself wasn't feeling particularly hungry, and having to listen to Hedwig gobble down the unfortunate rodent was hardly an appetiser. Harry hadn't wanted to cast a fire, because if there were any unfriendlies out there, they would immediately know where he was. He also hadn't wanted to take off the disillusionment charm, but he was forced to in the end when Hedwig – not having seen him – turned up and started flying in circles above his general area.

Harry took out a cloak from his trunk and wrapped it around himself and Hedwig, who'd already fallen asleep on his lap, her head tucked under her wing. So much for asking her to guard him while he slept.

He was just about to lean back on a boulder, telling himself he would settle for a quick doze, when he heard it. Howling! Wolf howling. _Loud_ wolf howling. Implying that they were extremely close! That was it! Harry jumped up and threw Hedwig into the sky, apologising as he did. He fastened the cloak at his collar and mounted his Firebolt. Let's see those wolves get him while he was up in the air!

"Come here Hedwig." The disgruntled owl flew towards him and perched on the end of his broom, then she inched closer until she was once again settled in his lap and wrapped in his cloak. Harry spent the rest of the next ten minutes scouring the ground from the air in an attempt to find the wolves.

Gradually, the howling dispersed, but he still did not want to get off his broom. The moon provided him enough light to keep flying around, and Harry snatched that excuse without even thinking about lighting his own wand.

He'd been flying for a while in every which way direction, when he spotted the light of a fire below him. Fire meant people, people could possibly mean muggles; he needed to get out of sight.

Harry gently swooped down and landed on a branch in a knotty tree, with abundant foliage. The tree was part of a circle of trees that rested on the crest of a small hill, and in the middle of the hill was a clearing, which hosted about nine of the strangest looking people Harry had ever seen.

Four of them appeared to be children, but when they spoke their voices were clearly adult. Harry didn't know what to make of this, so he moved his gaze to the person next to them. This one seemed to be made of hair and metal, and Harry got the distinct impression it was a dwarf. The four other occupants were normal-sized, however, one could not be what Harry would term human. He certainly looked like it though, despite the fact that he glowed. The last man Harry was the most glad to see, because he was clearly a wizard. He had the robes, the hat, and a staff. Suddenly, Harry was glad he was raised muggle, otherwise he would never have figured out that the old wizard's staff would be like the equivalent of Harry's wand. He was especially glad he wouldn't have to hide his magic anymore.

Of course he wasn't stupid to think that the old wizard's magic would work the same as his either. He was in a different world for Merlin's sake!

Harry leaned up against the tree, tilting his ear in the direction of the group.

They were talking amongst themselves in a language he didn't understand. There went his hope of communicating.

Then he got an idea!

If that old wizard – who looked suspiciously like Dumbledore on a bad hair day – could understand the significance of owl post, he could send Hedwig there with a blank piece of parchment. The old man might recognise that she was a wizard's owl – if wizards even had familiars here, that is – since she was more intelligent. Then Harry would get Hedwig to befriend them and . . . it just might work!

Wargs had chased the Company through most of the early evening and the new night. For their defence from the wolves, Gandalf led the Company to the top of a small hill. It was crowned with a knot of old and twisted trees, about which lay a broken circle of boulder-stones. In the midst of this they lit a fire, for there was no hope that darkness and silence would keep their trail from discovery by the hunting packs. Wolves had those great sniffers after all.

Sleep evaded them, so they spent the passing silence talking amongst themselves, mostly about mundane things. It was Sam who got such a fright he accidentally trod in the fire when a great white owl swooped out of nowhere and made its perch on Gandalf's head. For a split second the Company was too bewildered by the sight of this magnificent bird to do anything but stare in mute silence, until the wizard jumped up with a speed belying his age, and plucked it off his head. Gandalf held the bird in front of him like a sack full of dung.

The Company started when the owl screeched at Gandalf, sounding for all the world as though it were angry with him.

"I'm terribly sorry, my dear," said Gandalf, sounding contrived, and to the shock of the entire Fellowship placed the bird on his forearm. The Company got an even bigger shock when the owl stuck its leg out into Gandalf's face. It was only then they noticed the small piece of parchment tied to its leg.

"This is most unusual," Gandalf mumbled, as he untied the paper. "Who sent you then?" he asked the bird, who hooted at him. Everyone watched with bated breath as the wizard unrolled the parchment.

"What does it say Gandalf?" one of the hobbits asked, after allowing the wizard a minute to peruse the note.

Gandalf looked up at them with surprise on his face. "Nothing, my dear hobbit. It says nothing. It is blank."

There was uproar. "Blank? Surely then it is the work of the enemy?" cried Boromir. "Alas that they have found us!"

"No it is not so!" said Gandalf, to the surprise and relief of everyone. "I sense no evil in this bird. I believe whoever sent her to me might be in need of my assistance. This is the feeling I get from her."

"Help? How should we help anyone when we cannot even help ourselves?" Gimli grumbled, glaring at the beautiful owl. "I still say there is something odd afoot."

"Without a doubt. But I do not think it is a _bad_ odd," responded Gandalf

"This is strange. In all my years I have never seen an owl deliver anything, let alone a blank letter," said Legolas, staring suspiciously at the bird.

"Nor have I. Which leads me to believe that it was a wizard who trained her."

"Saruman!" was the name more than half the Fellowship exclaimed to those words.

"No, he has no power over birds or beasts. But my cousin, Radagast the Brown has always been able to understand and influence the minds of animals, more so than even I. I fear he may be in danger, if this bird is his."

"Then why was the parchment blank?"

"I don't know Frodo. That is a riddle to sleep on, I'm afraid."

But no sooner had he said those words than a howl pierced the night. Bill the pony wasn't the only one trembling where he stood. The howling of the wolves was now all around them, sometimes nearer and sometimes further off. Shining demon eyes reflected the light of the fire. Some advanced almost to the ring of stones. At a gap in the circle a great dark wolf-shape halted, gazing at them. A shuddering howl broke from him, as if he were a captain summoning his pack to the assault.

At his command many grey shapes sprang over the ring of stones. More and more followed. A great host of wargs had gathered silently and was now attacking them at once.

Gandalf released the owl into the air and strode forward, holding his staff aloft. "Fling fuel on the fire!" cried he to the hobbits. "Draw your blades and stand back to back!"

The hobbits watched from the safety of their circle as Aragorn passed his sword through the throat of one huge leader; with a great sweep Boromir hewed the head off another. Beside them Gimli stood with his stout legs apart, wielding his dwarf-axe. The bow of Legolas was singing.

In the wavering firelight Gandalf seemed suddenly to grow: he rose up, a great menacing shape in the darkness. Lifting a burning branch from the fire he strode to meet the wolves. They whimpered from the force of his power. High in the air Gandalf tossed the blazing brand. It flared with a sudden white radiance like lightning; and his voice rolled like thunder.

"_Naur an edraith ammen! Naur dan I ngaurhoth!_" he cried.

There was a roar and a crackle, and the tree above him burst into a leaf and bloom of blinding flame. The fire leapt from tree-top to tree-top.

Suddenly there was a startling cry, and out of a burning tree a dark disjointed shape, big and black, came soaring overhead and disappeared into the night. This frightened the Company, for no one knew what manner of creature could ride the wind with speed that fast, and utter a cry so terrible as to chill their spines. Even Gandalf, for he did not realise the Company was being spied on, and if it weren't for his burning flames, no one would have.

His fire seemed to frighten the wargs as well, as the whole hill was crowned with dazzling light. The swords and knives of the defenders shone and flickered. An arrow of Legolas kindled in the air as it flew, and plunged into the heart of a great wolf-chieftain. All others but one fled; an either very brave, or very stupid wolf rushed towards the Fellowship and with a great leap jumped over Aragorn and Boromir, his intent was the ring-bearer, and he would have ripped him to shreds if Frodo hadn't learned to fly in the last second.

Gimli threw an axe into the throat of the beast as the rest of the Company watched Frodo in horror, struggling in the talons of the great owl.

"We should not have trusted that beast," growled Gimli.

But he was wrong, as the companions found a second later; the owl, with Frodo clutched firmly in her pincers, swooped down and gently dropped him on the ground, then flew to rest on a boulder near Gandalf.

The Company didn't know what to make of this, and they looked to Gandalf for guidance. But it seemed even he could not make heads or tails of this peculiar bird, and he joined the others in their staring.

"This is a most unusual owl," he said, to the vexation of the entire Fellowship. "In fact, I am beginning to suspect that it's not a bird at all."

"A shape-changer then," offered Aragorn.

"Quite," said Gandalf, and he lifted his staff and pointed it at the bird. "Reveal yourself!" he demanded, a great power in his voice.

The owl pierced him with a glare.

Gandalf mumbled something and poked at the bird with his staff. It screeched at him, and, to the astonishment of the Company, turned its back in a deliberate and obvious dismissal of the wizard.

"Well then," Gandalf humphed impatiently. "I shall have to do it for you." He raised his staff, lining it at the bird, and began to chant. Before he even finished his verse the owl spread her large wings and flew over his head. The Fellowship turned to watch its progress and was stunned when it landed on the outstretched arm of a tall black-clad figure, dressed not unlike Gandalf, complete with robes and hat. It lifted its head and the Company were pierced with the most extraordinary emerald eyes any of them had ever seen. They were framed with a round, thin sort of metal. Black, wavy locks fell a little ways passed his chin.

Those who didn't spend much time with elves thought he must be one of their kindred, while the others that did, assumed he must be an enemy.

As fast as quicksilver Legolas strung a bow and let it fly at the stranger, even as Gandalf shouted "No!"

Just as quickly, the stranger lifted a small stick, and as the missile flew towards his throat he muttered an unknown word and with a _clang_ the arrow struck an invisible shield and bounced off to the side.

There was silence in the clearing for some time after that, until Gandalf stepped forward in an attempt to communicate with the stranger, who was clearly a wizard, no matter how unbelievable the fact. Of course Gandalf had never met two of his brethren, and this deceptively young looking Mage might be one of them, despite the fact he was led to believe all the Istari were in the guise of old men. Besides, he felt great power in the stranger, but no underlying evil, and for Gandalf that was enough to trust him.

"I am Gandalf of the Grey colour," he told his fellow wizard. "Who might you be? And what might your level be that you are clothed so? I never knew there to be a Black Istari before."

Harry watched as the old wizard stepped forward and gesture to himself before saying something in a language he couldn't hope to understand. In fact, Harry didn't understand what had been happening to him the entire night.

First he saw a bunch of the biggest crows and wolves in the world, then he was nearly burned to death from that old wizard's spell, then the old man had attacked Hedwig, and he'd been shot at! With an arrow no less! By a glowing man who looked like he'd been snatched out of a Robin Hood musical! And the arrows didn't exactly disabuse that assumption either. Harry thanked Merlin his Quidditch reflexes aspired from a natural talent; otherwise he'd have an arrow stuck in his throat by now.

He'd obviously landed in a primitive world whose motto seemed to be _kill first, ask questions later_, and now the wizard was attempting to talk with him? Harry supposed he would have to respond.

"Harry," he said, and gestured towards himself.

The old wizard's face showed surprise – probably the fact that Harry couldn't understand the language – but he responded none the less.

"Gand-elf," he said, pointing to his chest. Then he gestured in turn to each of his companions, saying their names, and having them bow in response. The dwarf was Gimling, the glowing man was – _snigger_ – Legless, and the two muggles were Aragorn and . . . Bore-me-dear? They were all strange names, to be sure. But then, Harry _was_ in a new world. He told himself not snicker out of respect of the inhabitants, and somehow he managed it.

The four little people were . . . well, the only names that sounded vaguely familiar to Harry were Sam something-or-other and Frog-_o_. As for the rest, he couldn't discern them. The little people themselves all looked so much alike – from their hairy feet to their curly locks of hair – that Harry couldn't hope to guess which was which.

Actually, they kind of reminded him of house-elves, what with all the bobbing and bowing they were doing.

After the introductions were concluded, Legless, Gimling and the muggles turned to Gand-elf and started talking with him. They sounded irritated, and they kept casting suspicious glances Harry's way.

Gand-elf was shaking his head and every so often he, too, would turn to look at Harry, but understandingly rather than suspiciously.

Finally, he beckoned an astonished Harry over, to the protests of the rest of the group.

Timidly, Harry shuffled along and came to a stand near the old wizard. In a flash, Gand-elf raised his staff and pointed it at Harry, who could only think he had to be stupid to fall for something like this again. In a great, booming voice the wizard shouted an obvious spell – causing Hedwig to take flight, and Harry to fall over and go temporarily blind – and the next thing Harry heard was a voice asking if he was all right.

"My head's dizzy," he answered.

_Wait a minute?_

"That is to be expected," said Gand-elf, looking down at a gape-mouthed Harry with kind old eyes.

"How did you-?" Harry began. "I can understand you now!"

"Yes, yes," said Gand-elf, leaning on his staff. "Though, I cannot imagine why you couldn't before."

"He's working as a spy for the enemy," growled Gimling with axe in hand.

Harry shot up at this. An arrow, an axe and two swords immediately followed his ascent.

Harry gulped against a dry throat, eyeing the steely edges of the weapons, and the steely eyes of their owners, then looked imploringly at Gand-elf. "Look, I don't know about any enemy, but I have to talk to you. That's what I was trying to do before with the parchment. Communicate with _you_, that is. If you hadn't already guessed Hedwig is _my_ owl."

Gand-elf frowned slightly. "So, Hedwig, did you say? Is actually a bird?"

"Er, yes. I mean, what else could she be?"

Gand-elf looked a little flustered. "Well, we were under the impression that she was a shape-changer . . ."

"Oh, you mean an animagus? You actually have those here? But no, Hedwig's just really smart, is all. Is that why you attacked her before?"

It was doubtful the group had understood half of what he'd said if the expressions on their faces were anything to go by.

"Animagus?" questioned Aragorn, stumbling a bit over the word. "This is your term for a shape-changer, then?"

"Well, yeah," Harry said, matter-of-factly. "Look I'm sorry, but I really need to talk to Gand-elf alone."

"Why alone?" said Gimling, gruffly. "You think to lure him into an ambush, spy?"

There was a mumbling of agreement between the two muggles and Legless at this.

"I'm not a spy," said Harry through clenched teeth, thinking he'd like to tell the dwarf just where he could stick his axe. "In fact, I don't even know what you're talking about!"

"Just the thing a spy would say!" said Gimling at once.

Harry forced himself to ignore the dwarf and turned back to Gand-elf. "I'm not a spy, I know you can feel this."

Gand-elf's enormous eyebrows shot up. Harry's almost did as well. He didn't know how he knew that Gand-elf trusted him. Perhaps it was a gut feeling, amplified by his arrival into this new universe? Perhaps it was because he looked so much like professor Dumbledore? Whatever it was, it was certainly useful.

Harry continued, "I have to talk to you about . . . well, about wizardly matters, alright?" The little people looked scared at this. Harry paid them no attention. "If you choose to tell your friends about what I've told you, you can."

The Company waited with an anticipatory build up of tension as Harry left Gand-elf to ponder his words. He stalked to the other side of the clearing and made his way behind a large boulder. If he looked behind him at that moment he would have seen the wizard verbally restraining the group. As it was, Harry was spared out of that offensive sight and few seconds later Gand-elf and Aragorn joined him behind the boulder.

"What's he doing here?"

"Aragorn would know what you find so important to tell me. I trust him. Also, he would have your magic stick."

Gand-elf gestured to Harry's right hand where Harry was tightly clutching his wand.

"I'm not giving him my wand!"

Gand-elf looked at him sternly. "Remember we do not know you. And it is only for safekeeping. We saw the potential your magic unleashed when you conjured that shield. If that little staff helps your power along, then we, as a whole, only have the right to take it from you during your questioning."

So basically Gand-elf was telling Harry that there were more of them then there was of him, and that it would be beneficial to his health if he gave his wand up without complaint. _What choice did he have?_

Reluctantly, Harry handed over his precious wand to Aragorn, who took it with the tips of his fingers, as though it might shoot out a spell if he manhandled it.

Gand-elf, nodding approvingly, settled himself cross-legged on the ground, and pulled out the longest pipe Harry had ever seen from out of his robes. He lit it up with an equally long matchstick of sorts that he must have brought from the campfire, and sat there puffing for a few moments, apparently completely comfortable with the situation. Aragorn followed Gand-elf to the ground, Harry's wand now sticking out of his belt once he'd realised that it wouldn't damage him.

Harry watched all this with dubious eyes as he settled his bottom on patch of squishy grass. They made no silence about labelling him an enemy. So where were the threats from Aragorn? Where was the good cop/bad cop routine? The atmosphere wasn't even tense. What ever Harry thought, he never suspected he'd find himself sitting comfortably on the ground, as though out on a Sunday picnic.

"Er . . ." he said, finally.

Gand-elf and Aragorn stared at him expectantly.

"I suppose I should begin then? Er . . . well . . . I guess I should start by saying that I come from a different world." He chanced a glance at his companions to find Gand-elf with his eyebrows raised passed his hairline, pipe lying forgotten in his lap, and Aragorn watching him with narrowed, disbelieving eyes.

"Er . . . you have heard of different world's right?" Harry asked hopefully.

"I have not," Aragorn said, with a shake of his head. "But then I am not a wizard, and am not knowledgeable in such things."

"Wizards," Gand-elf said, still staring oddly at Harry, "are not knowledgeable in such things either."

Harry's stomach dropped just a tad. _What if Gand-elf didn't believe him?_

"However," Gand-elf continued, now chewing at the end of his pipe, which had gone out, "it is said that the Valar themselves can travel to different worlds. To journey passed the stars and the heavens, arriving at different pastures . . . So what you say is not unheard of."

Harry's heart leapt. _They believed him!_

"But what I do not understand," sustained Gand-elf, leaning forward and staring speculatively at Harry's face, "is how a wizard could have the power do so. Unless there is more you have to say?"

Harry tried not to blink. "Yeah there is, I mean, I didn't do anything to come to this world. It was a vortex, or something! Actually, it could have been a lightening bolt."

The two men blinked. Obviously, they hadn't understood him.

"Alright then! Um . . . okay then." Harry drew a breathIt was probably best to start from the beginning "Where I come from there's a whole world full of wizards and witches, probably around a million of them in fact!" Gand-elf's pipe dropped from his mouth to the ground. Harry pretended not to notice. "I go to a place where wizard's are trained at magic until we're old enough to make our way into the world."

"And this world is full of wizards? No elves or dwarves or hobbits?" asked Aragorn.

"What's a hobbit? But yeah, we have house-elves. I don't know about dwarves, though. We have hundreds of other magical creatures, too. Oh and muggles, of course." Harry saw the questioning looks of his two companions. "In my world, you would be classified as a muggle Aragorn, because you have no magic in your blood."

Gand-elf and Aragorn developed dawning expressions. "Ahh, mug-_ales_ are your race of men then," Gand-elf stated, knowledgably. "But what I find most fascinating is that wizards are a race unto their own."

This time it was Harry that looked puzzled.

Gand-elf explained, "In Middle Earth there are only five wizards. Our levels of magic are distinguished by the colour robes we wear, white being the most powerful. I am Gandalf the Grey, for instance. But a whole world full of wizards, I have never imagined. How do you keep stabilised? What stops you from warring each other?"

"We do! War, that is," Harry explained. "Actually, at this moment, there's a Dark Lord about to terrorize the magical and muggle communities."

Both Aragorn and Gand-elf seemed to sit up at this.

"You have a Dark Lord in your world as well?" Aragorn asked.

"Well, yeah. I mean – " Harry froze. "You don't mean to tell me there's one here too?"

"Our world is plagued anew with a Dark Lord. Sauron is his name, and his armies are most terror-some. He has amassed orcs and goblins and wraiths to be the downfall of Middle Earth . . . " Gand-elf stared not so much _at_ Harry than through him.

Harry gulped. "S-so this world I'm in now is called Middle Earth?"

Gand-elf nodded, picked up his pipe, and started chewing on the end again. "If you would explain to us how you came to be in Middle Earth . . .? he prompted.

Harry briefly told them Dumbledore's explanation, including the fact that whatever it was chose a wizard specifically and wouldn't leave him or her alone until it transported them to a different world.

"But Dumbledore said he's going to try and bring me back, because I don't belong here. He's a really powerful wizard, so he can do it."

There was a somewhat confused yet contemplative silence behind the boulder, until Gand-elf cleared his throat, looking as though he'd just uncovered the answer to a particularly harrowing riddle.

"If the occurrence happened as you say, then I do not think your arrival in our world was an accident. It chose you specifically. And the fact that you came across us straight away – "

"But that's the thing. I didn't! I landed on top of this mountain first. There was a blizzard –!"

"How long ago did you land on that mountain?" asked Aragorn, looking anxious.

"Er . . . some time this morning, I think," answered Harry, who couldn't see what this line of questioning had to do with anything.

Aragorn looked triumphant. "We were on Caradharas Mountain this morning, in a blizzard. We near departed this life when a great lightening burst forth from the sky and stirred the snow to fall down on us."

"Yes, we thought it to be Saruman at first – an enemy – but it could just as believably have been you. And that means that I was correct the first time. That _thing_ bought you to Middle Earth for a purpose. You will join the Fellowship."

Aragorn tensed suddenly, and started jabbering away at Gandalf in some sort of lyrical sounding language.

Harry got the impression they were arguing. _And what was a Fellowship?_

"Excuse me? But what am I supposed to join?"

Gand-elf and Aragorn froze in mid-argument and looked towards Harry.

"Gandalf you would endanger the Fellowship?" Aragorn tried whispering, but his voice sounded so anxious that Harry heard him anyway . . . and, Gand-_alf_?

"I would not!" snapped Gandalf. "Harry is clearly not an enemy. You know this. You must also admit that he has been sent here to help us. That he is a wizard should be proof of that. But what force of power bought him to us only the Valar knows. In fact I suspect it was them, or something aligned to them that sent him here."

Aragorn looked properly chastised.

"What's the Valar?"

"They created Middle Earth and its people. Sent protectors to defend and guard it. I am one of those protectors," explained Gandalf. "And the Fellowship is of a ring. The One Ring, to be exact."

"A fellowship of a one ring?" asked Harry uncertainly, thinking that Gandalf had smoked one too many pipes short of a brain tumour.

Aragorn coughed unconvincingly behind his hand while Gandalf sighed impatiently. "Rather, it's The Fellowship of the Ring," he said, then went on a lengthy twaddle on the history of Middle Earth, its people, Sauron, the one ring, and the Fellowship.

Harry's head was buzzing with Gandalf's story. _And he'd thought Voldemort was bad?_ Well, he might be a lot worse magic wise – this Sauron bloke did sound a bit put down – but he was clearly a lot weaker supporter/minion wise. This Dark Lord had armies, with thousands of flesh-eating creatures in them. And those wraith things sounded too much like dementors for Harry's liking.

"And that is why I believe you were sent to the Fellowship specifically. You were meant to help us," Gandalf finished and drew a long drag from his newly lit pipe. This didn't do him too well, though, since he started hacking straight afterwards. _Probably his throat was already dry from talking too much._

"If you give me back my wand, I could conjure some water . . . " Aragorn handed Gandalf a bladder from his belt, presumably filled with some sort of liquid. " . . . or not."

Gandalf handed the bladder back to Aragorn after taking a gulp, then turned to Harry looking a bit puzzled.

"You can conjure water?"

"Yes, can't you?"

Gandalf looked taken aback. "No, I can't. I can manipulate the elements; create a pond from a dewdrop, a forest fire from a burning branch, that sort of thing. But I cannot materialise it out of thin air. We are clearly wizards of different moulds. I had suspected as much with that shield you created to halt the arrow. This only confirms my belief. Aragorn!" said Gandalf at once, causing Harry to jump. "Give Harry his stick back."

Aragorn plucked the wand from his belt, and with an apologetic sort of look, handed it back to Harry, who pocketed it.

"Right then," said Gandalf, standing up. "It is time to introduce you to the rest of the Fellowship, I should think."

The Company were in a state of a mixture of disbelief and fear, though, the latter emotion was more pronounced in that the little people all stood together in a huddle, and Legless, Bore-me-dear and Gimling all fingered their immediate weapons. They clearly didn't know what to make of this Wizard-From-Another-World, as they had taken to calling him. Well, at least it was a sight less embarrassing than The-Boy-Who-Lived.

Gandalf had – to Harry's embarrassment – told them everything, including the fact that his magic was different from Gandalf's, and probably far more potent in that way. The Fellowship had all looked to a red-faced Harry with awe, confusion and incredulity then, measuring him up to see whether Gandalf really was telling the truth, then dismissing Gandalf's idea because of how young he looked.

When Gandalf told them Harry was joining the Fellowship, Harry had to scramble back because the anger emitting from Gimling, Legless and Bore-me-dear, and the panic emanating from the little people was so potent, Harry swore he could feel it prickle his skin.

Gandalf snapped at them, then reminded them of the circumstances of Harry's arrival and how he was a gift from the Valar, and a couple of other things Harry didn't understand, but it must have convinced the Fellowship because after that even Gimling didn't grumble, though he did cast Harry probing looks from time to time.

After the initial explanation was over, the Fellowship, which now included Harry – though, grudgingly – settled themselves around the fire and proceeded to fall asleep. Harry and Legless kept awake, however. Legless because he was on watch duty and Harry because he was wishing desperately for Hedwig, but knew she relished the free open space this world provided her, and so, wouldn't come back anytime soon.

He also felt like reading, since he couldn't fall asleep, but that would mean he needed to light his wand, and he didn't think the rest of the Fellowship were entirely comfortable with him and his magic just yet. He wished this world had battery powered torches. '_Then again,'_ he thought with a snicker, '_he didn't really need them as he could just use the glow emanating off of Legless.'_ He was certainly bright enough.

Not for the first time did Harry wonder what exactly Legless was.

Certainly he was pretty. '_In a mannish sort of way,'_ thought Harry quickly. Then again, that long, blonde hair of his really did make him look like a girl. Or at least the sort of person someone like Lavender or Parvati might like.

Harry had a sudden thought. What if he was a Veela? Perhaps this world hosted male Veela's, just like Harry's bore only female ones. It would certainly explain his otherworldliness. But then Harry shouldn't talk, being from another universe and all. The Fellowship probably thought he looked extra spooky. Suddenly, Harry couldn't blame them for being defensive, especially when there was a war going on.

He sighed miserably.

He wanted Hedwig.

A/N: You might be wondering why the Fellowship thought that Harry might have been of elf kin. You have to remember that back in the middle ages (and I view middle earth as a sort of replica of that) people were rather foul, in that females only had baths twice a year and men only once, and that's in the same river as people disposed their waste in. I don't have to say that people were unhygienic and unwashed; Aragorn should be proof of that anyway. (No offence to Aragorn lovers, I like him too.)

I'm trying to say that Harry wouldn't look like a regular "man" since he comes from the twentieth century (1996 for those who didn't know) and bathes frequently. He wouldn't have muck and grime on him, nor would he allow the muck and grime to accumulate. Therefore, the Fellowship assumed he looked like an elf, because the only beings in Middle Earth who always look clean and well groomed are elves. (But I happen to think Harry is cute enough anyway, so he could pass as an elf without bathing. Also, Harry's clear-cut eye colour is rather unconventional on earth let alone middle earth, so no one in the Fellowship would actually view Harry as "a child of man," based on his appearance)

I also understand that almost everyone in the Fellowship are of somewhat noble descent so they might take baths regularly, but they have been travelling for a while, without any rivers or water to bathe in. They would be pretty smelly and they wouldn't look like the cleanest bunch. So to them, Harry would definitely look like a wonky sort of elf. Besides, his black hair and emerald eyes offer a very dramatic contrast, something regular peoples in middle earth probably don't see on any other race but the Elven one.

Preview for next chapter:

"Would you like some Mister Harry?"

Sam, thought Harry, was reminding him more and more of a house-elf.

Please Review!

The more reviews I get, the sooner I'll post the next chapter!


	4. The Giant Squid

Disclaimer: I own nothing. J.K. Rowling and J.R.R. Tolkien have that pleasure grumble 

A/N: I probably won't update for a couple of weeks after this, because I have about a million assignments due in. If you want to read more of my stuff, I've posted a new story. You can check it out on my Author's page. It's called "A Slightly Different Fifth Year."

Again, as with the last chapter, I have muddled some paragraphs and dialogue from the novel. I don't think I used that many.

**Chapter Four ---------- The Giant Squid**

There had only been one time in Harry's entire life when he'd actually seen a dead person up close. Cedric Diggory had even died in front of him, dropping straight to the ground like a stone plunging into the ocean. He had seen Sirius die, but that wasn't the same thing, he hadn't left a body behind. Now, only a few weeks after his demise Harry hadn't thought he would have to witness a death so soon, and one that reminded him so much of Cedric's, too. This one actually _had_ a body.

Legless.

He was dead.

Harry had awoken that morning to a small film of sunlight seeping over the horizon, shining faintly passed the tiny leaves of the trees and casting odd shapes on the sleepers in the clearing. It seemed a perfectly innocent setting, with no indication of the horror Harry was about to witness. No one in the Fellowship had troubled to wake themselves yet, except Harry, and as soon as he did, he wished he hadn't, because he'd immediately spotted a dead Legless.

Legless had been lying stiffly on the hard, cold earth, eyes wide, glazed, unseeing . . .

It was then Harry had started panicking. Some _thing_ had crept up to the Fellowship during the night and slaughtered Legless on his watch duty. Harry didn't know what sort of creatures lurked the night in Middle Earth, so his mind travelled – subconsciously or consciously – straight to the magical creatures on his world that could have been responsible for this. His immediate thought had been a lethifold. Rather like dementors, in that a patronus could stop them, and they projected the feelings of horror and despair. That was just the sort of creature that could have killed Legless without attracting anyone's notice. Silent and deadly, were lethifolds, preying on the unsuspecting.

As soon as Harry had come to that revelation, guilt had settled like a fiery rash in the pit of his stomach. '_If he'd only been awake?' _he'd thought to himself._ 'If only he hadn't gone to sleep? If only he hadn't been so tired? If only he'd been awake? If only he'd heard Legless being attacked? If only he'd been awake?'_ He knew how to cast a patronus, he could have defeated the lethifold, stopped it before it snacked on Legless.

Harry hadn't exactly been thinking clearly for a full minute, but then, a sort of revelational calm had settled over him. _He couldn't exactly be sure that it was a lethifold, could he? They mightn't even exist in Middle Earth, right?_ _It really wasn't his fault at all, was it? Just like Sirius's death wasn't his fault._ That was right.

Now, at this moment, once Harry's panic attack was over, he awkwardly, reluctantly, stood on shaky knees and made his way over the de . . . Legless.

_He really was quite dead though, wasn't he?_

Harry stood staring stupidly, disbelievingly, at the dead man at his feet. How could this have happened? Why did it happen? Why now?

Harry panicked again!

What if the Fellowship thought _he_ had done it? They would certainly have reason to; they already suspected him of spying as it was. Harry gulped against a suddenly raw throat as he sighted Gimling's gleaming battle-axe in the corner of his vision.

Would the dwarf be happily cleaning Harry's blood off the sharp edges in the near future?

He was being stupid. They wouldn't blame him. Gandalf trusted him, after all. Gandalf would believe him.

His decision made, Harry scrunched silently over to the snoring old wizard and peered speculatively down on him. His large wizard's hat lay on top of his face but despite that obscurity, he still looked a lot like Dumbledore. Perhaps it was a common theme for wizards to fit into this stereotypical image? Long white hair and beard, long crooked nose, spectacular robes that brushed the ground. Though, Gandalf's could hardly be termed spectacular. Monkish, would be a better description.

Harry shook his head.

_What was he doing?_ _Stalling for time?_ Actually, now that Harry thought about it, it seemed he was doing exactly that. Nervousness didn't even cover Harry's feelings in that moment. Potential pants peeing might better describe his emotions. He was even surprised to feel his hands had gone all sweaty.

Harry took a deep breath, then nudged Gandalf with his foot. The wizard made a sort of mumble in his sleep, but other than that, he showed no indication he'd felt Harry's foot against his rump.

And he should have, too, since it was a very sensitive area.

Harry tried a different tactic. He bent over and plucked Gandalf's hat off of his face. If that didn't wake him then – "

Harry jumped back in horror, nearly tripping over his own feet.

_Wide, unseeing eyes, cold and hard . . . _

He was dead!

_NO!_

_Was everyone dead then?_ Harry quickly scoured the camping area, and to his relief found the gentle rise and fall of breath on the rest of his companions, indicating that, yes, they were still very much alive and, no, he didn't need to drop to the ground like a wailing tot.

But wait! . . something didn't pan out. Hadn't Gandalf been snoring? Harry looked down at Gandalf and, yes, he still was.

Without noticing his actions, Harry reached up and scratched his head in that universal gesture that smacked of confusion and dumbness, the first time Harry was ever forced to put on such a display.

_What was going on?_

Harry glanced from Gandalf to Legless, repeating this motion three more times, then finally stopping to peer intently at the glowing man. Was that a rise of his chest he just saw? _Yes_.

He was alive!

Harry felt like whooping!

. . . then he felt like an idiot.

Obviously in Middle Earth wizards, and what ever Legless was, slept with their eyes open, no matter how odd it seemed.

He felt like a right sort of numbskull. He may as well bash his head over repeatedly with a sign that read:

Really stupid bloke here!

2 pounds for admission.

Harry snorted. That would be a sight he'd pay to see. The-Boy-Who-Lived, publicly humiliated, even more so than before. Fudge would certainly dance to that.

Harry shook his head at the absurdity of his thoughts. He had no cause to think of Fudge now. In fact, he had no cause to think of any of the problems he had while on earth. As a matter of fact, here, in Middle Earth, he was free! No one knew who he was. No one knew he was famous. No one would stop to gawk, rudely pointing at his forehead. No one knew about the Boy-Who-Lived and why he lived. And most importantly, they didn't care!

Harry's stomach gave a pleasant jolt that travelled up his chest and into his heart. He was finally a nobody and he loved it!

A large weight landed on his shoulder, talons digging uncomfortably, though familiarly, into his skin.

"Hello girl," Harry gave Hedwig's wing an affectionate stroke.

Hedwig rubbed her head against his cheek, all the while making a low, almost indistinct rasping noise, presumably out of pleasure.

"Were you watching over me last night?"

Hedwig hooted. Loudly.

Harry wasn't prepared for the reaction it caused.

Legless sprang to his feet with an odd flexibility Harry had only ever seen in frogs, whipping out his sling and arrows. Gimling shot up from his pallet, snatching his enormous axe, and stood with legs apart, breathing gruffly. Both the muggles rolled over and reached for their swords, not quite as fast and sprightly as Legless and Gimling, but fast enough to surprise Harry. Gandalf jumped up quickly, but he held his staff parallel to his body, as if knowing that there was no real danger.

By the end of this spectacle everyone besides Gandalf had aligned their weapons straight in Harry's wide-eyed direction, looking like they might make use of them at any moment. The little people, however, snored on, oblivious to the ranging conflict.

"Er . . ." said Harry.

There was a small twitter in the distance as a bird greeted the new day.

"Put your weapons down!" snapped Gandalf. Clearly he was not a morning person.

The four men obliged, but Legless, Gimling, and Bore-me-dear did so with great reluctance and a lot of grumbling – which came mostly from the dwarf. Aragorn was the only one who looked abashed.

"Well, this is certainly a festive way to start the morning!" exclaimed Gandalf, frowning a little below his eyebrows.

At least, Harry thought he was frowning. The old wizard could have been constipated for all Harry knew.

"We shan't have another spectacle like this tomorrow, shall we?" said Gandalf.

Everyone, including Harry, mumbled his apologies.

"Where's the breakfast?" a voiced asked. "Don't tell me we're on our way, now. I haven't eaten anything yet!"

"Peregrin Took!" cried Gandalf. Harry almost snorted. "You would think on your stomach even if death were near you."

Peregrin Took grew distinctly red in the face. Gandalf continued. "But you are due to wake up now, and wake you will, yourself and the others."

The little man jumped to Gandalf's suggestion, first going to a chubby person called Sam, and fairly ordering him to start breakfast, then went to nudge the rest from their sleep.

Half an hour later Harry sat near Pippin – which he found out to be Peregrin Took's nickname – and another little person called Merry around the morning fire, enjoying a meal of hot sausages, cheese, tomatoes, and homemade bread. The sausages weren't bad either. They reminded him of Hagrid's the first time he and Harry had met in that hut on the sea.

Pippin and Merry were acquainting him with the rest of the Fellowship and their histories.

"Gimli is a dwarf, in case you didn't know. They're very strong you know, dwarves I mean – ".

"Well they'd have to be Merry," said Pippin, in a half knowledgeable, half mischievous tone. "D'you see how big that axe is? Almost the length of me, give an inch and take off the bit that severs heads and the measure would be the same."

"Right you are, Pip!"

Harry sniggered.

"D'you see that now? You made him laugh at me!"

"Well if he laughs it's nobody's business but his own."

Harry continued to listen to Merry and Pippin berate each other, all the while watching Sam bustle over Frog-o like a miniature Mrs Weasley, or even a less enthusiastic Dobby.

"What about you guys?" asked Harry, interrupting their playful banter. "Who, I mean what are you?"

Harry felt that might have been too rude a question, but the hobbits didn't think so. On the contrary, they seemed to get excited.

"Well first of all we aren't _guys_, whatever those are. We, my good sir, are hobbits," concluded Merry in a very formal tone and knuckling his forehead.

"So _you're_ hobbits," said Harry with dawning eyes. "And, I hate to tell you this but you're guys, too."

"I'm sorry Harry, but I think I would have known if I was a guy," said Pippin.

Harry snorted. "No, I mean. The word guy is another word for male. Like, I'm a guy, you're a guy, Legless' is a guy, Gandalf – ".

Harry stopped abruptly because Pippin and Merry had cracked into full out laughter.

"What?" Harry questioned, puzzled.

"L-Legless!" said Merry, barely managing to get the word out, then went on chuckling.

"That is his name, right?" asked Harry, his tone hopeful and embarrassed at the same time.

"No Harry," said Pippin, managing to calm down somewhat. "It's Le-go-las. But I see where you got confused. Elvish names can be a muddle in the head, my head anyway."

"Everything's a muddle in _your _head Pippin," Merry said.

Before Pippin could open his mouth to reply, Harry jumped in. "You know, I think I might have confused other people's names, too," he admitted.

"Not to worry," said Pippin, with a sly look at Merry, and for a split second Harry was reminded of the Weasley twins. "Just tell us the ones you think you got wrong, and we'll help you."

During the course of the next two minutes, amidst uproarious hobbit laughter, Harry discovered that his _Frog-o_ was actually Frodo, _Bore-me-dear_ was Boromir, and _Gimling_ was Gimli, though, the last one wasn't much of a difference in Harry's opinion.

Then he remembered something.

"Pippin, what did you mean when you said Legolas is an elvish name?"

Pippin answered with a mouthful of bread and cheese. "'ell, 'e's an ef, 'arry. I taut n'dalf shai' eu 'ad evs in or world."

_What?_

"Excuse me?"

Pippin gulped down his food and cleared his throat. "I said he's an elf. How could you not know? I thought Gandalf said you had elves in your world."

_An elf? _

"We do. But they don't look like Legolas."

Pippin frowned, puzzlingly while Merry looked up in interest. "What do they look like then?"

"Well they're about your height – " Harry began.

The two hobbits started sniggering. "Imagine that Merry. Elves in Harry's world are our height."

Harry was enjoying himself. He really liked the two hobbits. "Yeah. We call them house elves."

"Why do you call them house elves?" asked Pippin.

Suddenly, Harry didn't feel like it was a good idea to tell them. If Legolas was an elf, he was clearly a free elf. It was also obvious that he wasn't treated at all like the elves in Harry's world. Would he be offended if he heard from Merry or Pippin about the poor treatment of house elves on earth?

"No reason," he told them.

Sam abruptly appeared before them, holding a quarter full plate of sausages.

"Would you like some more, Mister Harry? They have to go now or they'll spoil."

'_Sam,'_ thought Harry, _' was the one reminding him more and more of a house elf.'_

"No thanks, I'm not hungry."

Merry and Pippin however, looked delighted. "Gives us it then, Sam!" they said, and snatched the remaining sausages from the plate. Harry had a feeling they often pilfered things without permission.

Sam squawked. "I was just going to ask Gandalf if he'd like some. Thanks to your greedy guts I've nothing but an empty plate to offer him."

"Better an empty plate than nothing at all Sam," said one or the other. Harry wasn't sure; he was too busy trying to rein in his laughter.

"What's this?" said Gandalf, coming from his boulder to hover over them. "Cease this folly Peregrin Took. Why aren't you ready? We are leaving. Samwise, should you pack Bill, or should we leave without him?"

"Bill!" Sam exclaimed, and rushed off to tend the pony.

"The rest of you had better gather your belongings," said Gandalf, and walked off to the huddle that was Aragorn, Boromir, Gimli and Legolas.

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The rest of the next few hours passed in much the same scattered confusion and laughter. Though, by the end of the morning nobody really had time to talk much; they were too busy trying to catch their breaths. Up, down, and in between small grassy hills they went, across boulders, through tree clusters, and passed lonesome landmarks every once in a while. For miles they travelled, Harry wishing he could ride his Firebolt, but knowing that the Fellowship would probably panic if he did. And Harry wouldn't put it passed Legolas to shoot him while on take off.

Still they travelled until well into the sun's zenith, Harry wondering when they were going to stop for a rest and some food. Pippin sadly informed him that they weren't going to stop until nightfall, something he had learned the hard way, it seemed.

But Harry had another problem.

He needed the loo.

The last time he had been was probably a day ago, so he wasn't exactly surprised. But that didn't mean he had to accept it.

_What to do?_

Sometimes he would spot one or two of the Fellowship dropping behind on occasion, presumably for the chance to use the back of a tree, but Harry was neither very outgoing nor very macho. The truth was, he was embarrassed and a little intimidated. If he dropped back now, everyone would know what he was doing, they might even stop, too, as they did with the hobbits, to assure there was no danger. And even if they didn't, he couldn't guarantee someone wouldn't follow him, perhaps on the thought that they might as well utilise the opportunity?

Harry had a sudden image of Gimli squatting behind a boulder, hacking the leaves off the nearest tree with his axe, then putting the leaves to their much needed use. Harry shuddered. He shouldn't be imagining that at all.

Then there was also the awkward fact that Harry didn't feel at all comfortable with the Fellowship, besides Gandalf, Merry, and Pippin, whom he liked very much. Theother threehad tried to kill him after all.

There was nothing for it. He would have drop back.

Harry casually, and quite surreptitiously, so as not to cause notice, began slowing down. Half an hour later he was near the back of the group and getting desperate.

_Just a few more minutes, Harry. Hold on for just a few more minutes._

But Harry had forgotten something. The person bringing up the rear of the group was Boromir, hardly Harry's best friend. Highly suspicious, highly muscly, and – Harry took a sniff as he stepped in line with the weapon-clad man – highly odorous. _Care for an armpit anyone?_

How was he ever going to sneak passed Boromir's notice?

Harry put his hand in the pocket of his robes and fingered his wand.

_Should he?_

It _was _an emergency.

His mind made up, Harry slipped his wand from out of his pocket and discreetly pointed it at the sword sheath tied to Boromir's belt.

"_Dissendo,"_ he whispered.

The tie unlooped itself and the heavy weapon clattered painfully onto Boromir's feet, causing him to yell out and stumble a little. Harry took the opportunity and shot off into the bushes while the big man's attention was elsewhere.

He hadn't counted on Boromir yelling out in pain. He was lucky he got out of there before anyone turned around. He hoped no one noticed him missing.

A minute later Harry stepped out of the bushes feeling refreshed, and speed-walked to catch up with the rest of the Fellowship. They hadn't gotten very far, and Harry knew there were two reasons why. The first was that the hobbits couldn't walk as fast as the rest of them, so the Company deliberately slowed down so as not to leave any behind. It made for a leisurely walk, but meant that they wouldn't be getting to their destination anytime soon. The second was because it was passed lunchtime and nobody really felt like rushing anyway, being too tired from the long trek as it was.

Just as Harry stepped behind Boromir, Merry asked where he was. There were a lot of heads turning as the Fellowship tried to find him. Finally, Boromir turned around and found himself with a face full of teenage boy.

"What are you doing back there?" he asked in, Harry's opinion, a highly mistrustful tone.

The rest of the Fellowship stopped and turned around.

"Just tying my shoelace," he lied, hoping there were such things as shoelaces in this world.

Boromir glared at him, but other than that he gave no indication he might believe Harry. In fact, he turned right around and continued walking, the rest of the Fellowship doing the same.

Harry jogged to catch up to the hobbits, thinking he had to be stupid to use magic on Boromir when he could have just used the excuse of tying his shoelace to lag behind in the first place.

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The rest of the day continued as before. Gandalf and Gimli leading the troupe nearer to a particularly cluttered group of mountains. As they came closer, the ground grew less green and more red, and the trees virtually disappeared. No birds dotted the sky.

Eventually, they came across a deep channel in the ground, as dry as sandpaper. But near it was a path, broken and decayed, wounding its way around the ruined walls and paving stones of an ancient highroad.

"Ah! Here it is at last!" said Gandalf, stopping briefly to stare. "This is where Sirannon, the Gate-stream ran. But what has happened to the water, I cannot guess; it used to be swift and noisy. Come! We must hurry on. We are late as it is."

They followed the winding road for many miles, Harry feeling footsore and tired. _How much longer?_

They rounded corners and veered off in all directions until Gandalf finally pointed to a low cliff with a broken and jagged top. Over it, trickling water dripped through a wide cleft.

"Hmm," said Gandalf. "Indeed things have changed since last I was here. But if I remember correctly, there was a flight of steps cut into the rock at the side. Let us go and see if it is still there."

They found the steps, everyone besides Gimli slowly trudging up them. Harry learned, by questioning the hobbits, that Gimli's cousin or something lived to where they going, and that was why he was so excited.

Finally, they reached the top of the steps, only to found that the cliff where the water was trickling out of wasn't a cliff, but a dam.

"Now we know where the Gate-stream water went!" said Gandalf, frowning a little.

The water, Harry saw, looked like a black, ominous lake. And at the back of the lake were vast stone cliffs, their faces pale and scraggly in the fading light. It looked like a dead end to Harry.

But not to Gandalf, it seemed. "There are the walls of Moria," he said, pointing across the water. "We will have to either produce a boat or go up the slopes to get to the other side of the lake. In any case, we cannot take Bill."

Sam cried out.

"Confound it Samwise!" snapped Gandalf, already tired from the long trek and loosing what little patience he had. "The beast has four legs and hoofs. He cannot climb the slopes."

Sam grudgingly complied, and went to get the packs from the pony's back.

Gandalf's expression softened. "He will be safer away from here Sam. He knows the way home. He will be alright."

Harry thought he heard Sam sniff.

As Bill the Pony trotted off the way they came, Gandalf led the group up the slopes ("We might as well climb to the sun," grumbled Merry) then down the slopes (Harry almost lost his hat while tripping over his shoelace) by the time they reached the narrow strip of land between the cliff face and the lake it was completely dark, the light of the moon their only beacon in the night.

They made their way across the strip. Harry jumped in alarm when he heard a loud plop directly on his right. He sighed in relief; a fish had flopped in and out of the water.

The rest of the Fellowship however, grew wary, staring intently at the black pool as it bubbled unnaturally where the fish landed back in.

Harry gulped. _Was that supposed to happen?_

Suddenly, Frodo, who was walking in front of Harry, slipped on the wet mud on the lake's banks, his foot plunging into the water. Harry shot forward and caught him before he became completely submerged.

"Thankyou Harry," he said, staring at the water and shuddering.

"No problem," Harry said uncertainly, stepping back from Frodo. Something wasn't right about this hobbit. He gave Harry an ugly feeling. Harry felt as though he wanted to be completely away from him, but completely near him at the same time. Perhaps it was that ring thing Gandalf was talking about?

They trudged onwards a little ways and came across two of the biggest holly trees Harry had ever seen; their gigantic roots were submerged like two great claws into the lake. And on one of the branches of the trees, looking quite at home and completely comfortable, sat Hedwig.

"Hedwig!" Harry cried, and as the astonished Fellowship watched, the owl swooped down and landed on Harry's shoulder.

"How did she know to find you?" asked Legolas, coming to stand next to Harry.

Harry shrugged. "She's a wizard's owl. She's really intelligent."

Then the Fellowship watched in complete speechless bafflement as Hedwig thrust out her chest importantly, and began to preen her feathers.

"It seemed as though she was waiting for you. She truly is a remarkable bird," said Legolas, staring in awe at Hedwig, the rest of the Fellowship mumbled their agreement.

Harry, though, was completely confused. He, as Harry Potter, had never been thrown over in favour of his owl. He rather enjoyed his unimportance in this universe. It seemed as though his and Hedwig's roles had been reversed somewhat.

Gandalf stood between the holly trees, running his hand over the cliff face. "Well here we are at last!" he said. "Here the Elven road from Hollin ended. The Elves planted holly on the West-door, for holly was the token of their people. Those were happier days, when there was still friendship at times between folk of different races, even between Elves and Dwarves." Gandalf looked pointedly and Gimli and Legolas.

"It was not the fault of the Dwarves that the friendship waned," said Gimli.

"I have not heard that it was the fault of the Elves," said Legolas.

"Be silent!" said Gandalf, and everyone looked on in shock. Gandalf seemed to be a lot crabbier than usual that day, and even the littlest slight set him off.

"I am not in the mood for your bickering," he continued. "I will need your help before the night is out. The doors are shut and hidden, and the sooner we find them the better!"

Gimli moved forward, tapping the stone with his axe, Legolas leaned against the rock, as if listening.

Gandalf however, stood there staring at it. "It mirrors only starlight, and moonlight," he mumbled. Walking up to the stone, he ran his hands over it, as though tracing patterns. "Can you see anything now?"

To Harry's and everyone's surprise something like a silvery, gossamer spider's web began forming until it merged into the unmistakable shape of a doorway. Runes ran down the side and across its arch.

"What does the writing say?" asked Frodo, who looked like he was trying to read the inscriptions on the arch.

"They do not say anything important," said Gandalf. "They only say: _The Doors of Durin, Lord of Moria. Speak, friend, and enter._ And underneath that is written: _I, Narvi, made them. Celebrimor of Hollin drew these signs."_

"What does it mean by _speak, friend, and enter_?" asked Merry.

"That is plain enough," said Gimli. "If you are a friend, you speak the password, and you can enter."

Personally, Harry thought it was too obvious, but didn't say anything.

"Do you know the password, Gandalf?" asked Boromir.

"No!" said the wizard.

The others looked dismayed.

"What was the use of bringing us to this accursed spot?" cried Boromir, glancing back with a shudder at the dark water. "You told us you had once passed through the mines. How could that be if you don't know how to enter?"

Gandalf let out an angry expulsion of breath. "I don't know the password, but I shall know it. I once knew every spell in all the tongues of Middle Earth. It will come to me. And as for your other question," he continued, a dangerous glint in his eyes. "Have you no wits left? I did not enter this way. I came from the East."

Boromir went rather like Ron did when he grew embarrassed.

Gandalf touched the rock with his staff.

_Annon edhellon, edro hi ammen!_

_Fennas nogothrim, lasto beth lammen!_

Nothing happened.

An hour passed with Gandalf reciting various spells from several languages, and still nothing happened. Finally, Gandalf threw his staff on the ground and, grumbling, plonked down on a nearby rock.

The Fellowship stared with disappointed.

Suddenly Pippin leapt to his feet.

"I know!" he said, excitedly. "Why doesn't Harry try?"

Everyone, including Gandalf, turned to look at a flummoxed Harry.

Harry sighed inwardly, he didn't want to use his magic in front of the Fellowship, but it seemed he had no choice.

"Er . . . well I suppose I can give it a try. I mean I know one spell to open locked doors but it doesn't really work if the door has a previous enchantment on it . . ." he trailed off as the Company, who were beginning to look hopeful, deflated again.

"Give it a try anyway, Harry," said Gandalf. Pippin pushed him forward to stand in front of the doors, Hedwig's sharp claws clutching his shoulder blade as she struggled to keep her balance.

Harry took out his wand and pointed it at the doors, noticing the stares he was getting. Best to get this over with quickly.

He was just about to say the spell when he felt the faintest tremor wisp through his wand.

_What?_

A second later, the tremor gave way to a violent vibration that had Harry's whole arm shaking with it.

The Fellowship stared. Hedwig hooted.

_What was –?_ Of course! Harry focused his gaze on both the holly trees. Could it be, that because his wand was made of holly, it was reacting to the aura stemming from the two trees? Didn't Gandalf tell him the previous day when explaining Middle Earth, that there were some plants here that had their own type of natural magic? Like the plants in Herbology. If that were true, it didn't surprise Harry that his holly-tree wand reacted that way to its Middle-Earthian tree counterparts.

Harry decided to test his theory.

He took a step back, so that his body wasn't aligned with the holly trees.

The palpitations in his wand halted immediately.

Harry sighed with relief. He didn't know how much more bizarreness he could take.

He saw Gandalf in the corner of his vision, observing knowingly.

"Are you going to go about it then, lad?" asked Gimli, with an irritated tone.

"Patience Gimli," said Gandalf. "Harry's magic has reacted to the enchantment on the door, just as he said it would. But as you can see, it has now ceased. If you would resume, Harry?"

Harry nodded, not bothering to correct Gandalf's assumption. It would be too difficult to explain anyway. Besides, he had come close.

Harry pointed his wand at the door.

"Alohamora!"

He knew it hadn't worked even before he'd finished saying the word, as the golden light that usually accompanied the _Alohamora_ spell hadn't shone out of his wand.

"There went that hope," Gimli grumbled. "I thought Gandalf said you were powerful!"

Harry looked at him angrily. "Didn't you listen to what Gandalf just said? The magic in Middle Earth is different from mine. I probably couldn't break through this enchantment because it doesn't recognise my magic, and vice versa."

"I do not know what this _vice versa_ means, or if it is a spell, but Harry is right," said Gandalf. "Our magicks are each potent in their own way."

A couple of minutes later found everyone brooding again.

Harry watched from his spot by the first holly tree (his wand gently trembling in his robe pocket) as Boromir picked up a stone and chucked it in to the lake. The bubbles appeared again as they had with the fish, and this time they didn't go away.

"I wish you hadn't done that, Boromir," he heard Frodo say.

Gandalf sat with his head in his hands, and looked to be in deep thought. Then he jumped up with a suddenness that startled them all. "I have it!" he cried, laughing. "A riddle. It was riddle all along, and an absurdly simple one."

Picking up his staff and lining it at the door he said in a clear voice: _"Mellon!"_

Harry's jaw dropped. The door creaked open, showing blackness inside and nothing else.

"Ha-ha!" said Gimli, happily, standing from his seat on a rock.

The Fellowship walked forward, Gimli in the lead, Legolas by his side, and Harry trundling behind them. Gimli was talking excitedly about, of all things, meat and hospitality.

Suddenly a cry of "Gandalf!" by Sam drew their attention. Everyone turned around just in time to see Frodo wrapped in a slimy, green tentacle, hanging twenty feet in the air.

Aragorn, Boromir and Gimli rushed forward as Sam hacked at the tentacle with his short sword. It released Frodo into Aragorn's outstretched arms, and for a glorious moment, everyone thought they had won. But then, twenty more tentacles shot out, knocking everyone aside except Frodo, which one of them grabbed again. Along with the tentacles had come a gigantic, slimy head with a wide, cavernous mouth.

'_The giant squid?_ _What was it doing here?'_ Harry thought stupidly, not realising the absurdity of his question.

Legolas strung his bow and let it fly at the head of the squid. It roared frighteningly, but didn't release the poor hobbit. It was Aragorn who finally saved Frodo, chopping off the tentacle that held him and catching the hobbit once again. With that accomplished everyone rushed back into the caves, the slimy tentacles following them. But the monster was too big to enter, and ended up crushing the doors so that the Fellowship found themselves in pitch darkness, the only sound heard was their frantic breaths.

Harry had never felt so ashamed, angry and irritated in a long while. He had rushed forward with the rest and drawn his wand, intending to blast the squid with his best _stupefy_, when it had started vibrating again. Harry, without noticing, had stepped in between the holly trunks. His magic, it seemed, dried up completely when confronted by the two trees. By the time he'd stepped back into the mines, and aimed his wand, the excitement was over.

Harry shook his head angrily. What was the point of being a wizard when he couldn't use his magic? Was he always going to have problems of this sort? He hoped he would never come across another Middle-Earthian holly tree, or he might be tempted to use Gimli's axe.

"We have now but one choice," said Gandalf grimly, tapping his staff on the ground so that the crystal on the top lit up brilliantly. "We must take the long, road of Moria. Be on your guard! There are older and fouler things than orcs, in the deep places of the world."

"Fouler things? Would that you had listened to me, Gandalf!" cried Boromir. "Now we are trapped, and who is going to lead us out?"

"I will," said Gandalf. "Just follow my staff."

"If only we had more light," said Frodo, staring around at the preceding shadows with doe-eyes.

Harry was about to take out his wand when Gandalf answered, "No Frodo. Too much light will draw attention to us. Now follow me."

The Company trudged after Gandalf with heavy feet and heavy hearts. It was as they walked under an archway and into a huge cavernous room when Harry realised he'd missed something.

"Hedwig!" he exclaimed.

Everyone stopped to stare at him.

"She's gone! She didn't come into the caves with us. She must have flown out when that giant squid attacked us!"

"She is in a better place than us then," said Gandalf. Then he stared curiously at Harry. "You know what that monster is?"

Everyone listened with curious expressions. Harry was momentarily stumped at the attention.

"Yea . . . sort of. We have them in my world, but they're not as nasty. There was a giant squid that lived in the lake beside my school." He thought of Dennis Creevey. "It would rescue people when they fell into the lake . . ." he stopped because everyone was staring at him in complete disbelief. "It's true," he insisted.

"Would that we had met your giant skweed instead of that monster," said Boromir.

"Indeed, that would have made this day less of a hardship," said Gandalf. "Let us be on our way."

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A/N: I know that in middle earth the giant squid is known as The Kraken. But it in the novel, Gandalf and the rest don't know what it is. Tolkien got the idea from the old stories of sailors who'd said they'd been attacked by a giant octopus out on the sea. The sailors named it The Kraken.

At Hogwarts the giant squid is good. In Middle Earth, it is bad. But they are, virtually, the same thing.

2ndA/N: I know that the hobbits wouldn't recognise what the words _Leg-less _means, since Harry called Legolas that in English. Well, they didn't recognise it. They just heard Harry saying an odd distortion of Legolas' real name, and that's why they laughed.

3rd A/n: The next chapter will slowly trickle away from cannon. With Harry using more magic, more shocking the Fellowship, and finding new things out about middle earth, etc, etc, etc. There is also a really big surprise on the way. Something I don't think anyone has ever done.

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REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW PLEASE! I want more constructive criticism. And I won't mind if you write one or two words either.


	5. Things Not Seen Before

Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling and J.R.R. Tolkien own Harry Potter and The Lord of the Rings, respectively. Again, I have put some quotes in here from the movie and the book.

A/N: Big thank to all my reviewers, especially Orient Fox. I wasn't very happy with the last chapter, and I had thought I made Harry OC in some bits after I read it over. _Doh!_ My only excuse is that I haven't read Harry Potter in a while, and I haven't got his way of thinking ingrained in my head. Hopefully this chapter will be much better. And you don't have to worry, Harry is not going to do something completely out of character.

As for not including the Fellowship's perspective in a lot of the scenes, I had hoped to make this story from Harry's point of view, but then I thought it would be nice to include Gandalf's perspective, or even an entirely omniscient perspective, like the Lord of the Rings is written in. So that's what this chapter will do . . . I hope.

Anyway, here' s the story!

**Chapter Five: Things not seen before.**

Gandalf sat with knobbly elbows resting on equally crooked knees absently smoking his pipe, and staring into nothingness. Gandalf rather thought nothingness must be full of something at least, if the thoughts currently grinding through his head were any suggestion. Gandalf was not doing what he was supposed to be doing. What he was supposed to be doing was thinking about which of the three tunnels in front of him would be best to take the Fellowship down in. Instead, he was thinking about the new piece of baggage the Fellowship had picked up.

Well, that was not exactly fair, Gandalf supposed. Harry did not act like any piece of baggage Gandalf had ever come across. He did not slow them down by being cumbersome, unlike some hobbits Gandalf knew. He didn't complain, he hadn't threatened anyone, and certainly he pulled his weight. Why, just that morning whilst they were tramping up the steeped staircases in Moria, he had saved Sam some future unpleasantness by offering to take his pack from him, so the little hobbit would not tire out by the time they reached the top. Yes, he was quite chivalrous for a young wizard of only three hundred or thereabouts. Gandalf wasn't sure, he couldn't quite guess at Harry's age.

Harry was an enigma to the old wizard. A magical enigma, which made him all the more interesting. And Gandalf was nothing if not interested in magical enigmas. He noticed, for instance, that Harry – whose magic Gandalf was sure could be used for practical purposes – did not exercise his magic at all. In fact, he hadn't tried to employ magic since before that _skweed_ incident when he'd attempted opening Durin's doors.

And if Harry can conjure fire, as Gandalf suspected he could, he might have thought to actually make some occasionally, as the Fellowship had been left without kindling and torches when they had been forced to flee into the mines. Gandalf had not said anything, he assumed Harry had his reasons, or else he was just too reserved to show magic in front of the Fellowship.

But Gandalf could not work this out. He had seen Harry perform some truly amazing magical feats. Conjuring that shield with so little time to spare was one of them, and he could ride the air without wings. Gandalf did not know how this was possible, but he had worked out that it had been Harry who had flown over warg and Fellowship heads with such great speeds from out of that burning tree.

Gandalf also noticed that Harry did not act like any male he knew. He was unaccountably shy in his personal habits, rather like a blushing maid. He did not stop at the ordained time with the others, but made excuses, or else, magicked Boromir's sword to fall onto Boromir's feet for a distraction, so that he could find some private time. Gandalf had been looking forward to seeing how he would cope in the Mines of Moria. He had been amused when Harry would proclaim he'd lost his hat around the previous turn, or else his shoelace had untied, despite the fact that Gandalf could see the pointed tip of his hat sticking out from under his robes, and that his unusual looking shoes were always tightly laced.

This behaviour was most bizarre. Could he not just say he needed some time alone, and that was that? Why all the blushing and hiding from the truth? It did not do too well on his relations with Legolas, Boromir, and most especially Gimli. They were now even more suspicious of him, being of the mind that he had kept some great dark secret from them that he would one day dutifully bestow with a knife against their throats in the dead of night.

However, Gandalf understood that Harry did come from a different world. No doubt things were done, ahem, differently there.

And where was his pack? He had not seen Harry lug a bag of any sorts; yet, just this afternoon he had offered Pippin – who, as predicted, was complaining of hunger pains in his stomach – a small cake that, according to the hobbit, tasted of sweet roasted pumpkin. Where had he been keeping this cake? Certainly not in his back pocket, he would surely have squashed it by now if that were so. Yet, the cake had been completely whole, warm, and _fresh_ when he'd given it to the hobbit. And unlike being able to conjure water or fire from out of the air, Gandalf did not think that Harry could do the same with solid foods. Water was an element, as was fire, they were made of an entirely different substance than a sweet roasted pumpkin cake. It was most peculiar.

"Gandalf, Gandalf! There's something down there."

"Hmm?" Gandalf came out of his thinking to see Frodo's curly mane hovering in front of his face. "What was that?"

"There's something down there!"

"Ahh," he was wondering when the hobbit would notice. "It's Gollum."

"Gollum!"

"He's been following us for three days."

"Gollum," Frodo repeated.

"He hates and loves the ring," Gandalf explained. "Just as he hates and loves himself. My heart tells me that Gollum has some part to play in all this, yet for good or evil I do not know."

"It's a pity Bilbo didn't kill him when he had the chance," Frodo said quite passionately for a hobbit of leisurely character. Gandalf was surprised; yet he did not think it was the ring's influence, but rather, fear of the unknown Gollum.

"Pity?" Gandalf questioned, a touch of reprimanding in his tone. Then he explained. "It was pity that stayed Bilbo's hand. Many that live deserve death, and some that die deserve life. Can you give it to them Frodo? There are many forces at work in this world besides the will of evil. Think of Harry's presence. Surely it was a force of good that brought him to us, right when we needed him? And Bilbo's finding of the ring and you inheriting it, was that not also a force of good? Yes Frodo, Bilbo was _meant_ to find the ring, just as you were _meant_ to have it. And that is an encouraging thought."

Frodo smiled. Gandalf did the same, and as he did so a smell, or rather, lack thereof, captured his nose.

"Aha!" he exclaimed joyfully. "It's that way!" He nodded his head to the tunnel at the right.

"He's remembered!" he heard Merry say.

"No," Gandalf replied. "But the air down here is not as foul as in the other tunnels. If in doubt Meriadoc, always follow your nose.

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The Fellowship marched for twenty miles eastward amidst fissures, splits, and gaps in the rock that showed the dismayed Company that the ground was a very long time away indeed. This march took about eight hours or so, not counting the cracked and winding roads they traversed along, and the brief stops they made for rest. Occasionally Frodo, Aragorn, and Legolas, and not to forget Gandalf, would hear the patter of footfalls a ways behind them, that they knew was not an echo of their own. Gollum, it seemed, was intent on pursuit. And all four knew he would remain on their path as long as the lure of the ring held him in its golden grasp.

They had marched to the depths of all things – or so it seemed to the Company, who had not had a proper rest since they began marching that morning – when they walked into what felt like a large open room with not much in it. It felt like this because cold, swirly wind, breezed before them like a breath of fresh air after only smelling mustiness and dust for the most part of their trek.

The hobbits huddled together, looking apprehensive. They were sure that this air, despite feeling so refreshing, was only a cover for something dangerous that lurked in the darkness in front of them. _'It was there to make them believe they were safe,'_ they each thought in their hobbit minds. _'It was only a trick,'_ they were sure. The rest of the Company displayed their anxiety by glaring into the foreboding shadows. Gandalf saw Harry in the corner of his eye, place his hand on his pocket; the pocket that Gandalf knew housed Harry's magic stick. The old wizard, though, was completely calm; he knew now where they had travelled to, and what that cold breeze was all about.

"I chose the right way," he told the Fellowship, who looked relieved. "At last we are coming to the habitable parts. But we are high up, unless I am mistaken. From the feeling of the air, we must be in a wide hall. Let me risk a little more light."

Gandalf raised his staff, and as he did so the glare intensified to enormous proportions, chasing away the shadows and lighting the room so completely that the Fellowship could finally see what had previously been only darkness. Great, fat pillars stretched all the way to the ornamented ceiling and along the polished floor, seeming as if they went on forever.

"Behold the great realm and city of the Dwarrowdelf. And that is all that I shall venture on for the present," Gandalf said, his staff dimming. "Let us unpack now and rest here for the night."

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The Company spent that night in the great cavernous hall. All but one were huddled close together to escape the chill of the night air in the great open space. Gandalf discreetly observed Harry's slumbering form from his pallet. Everyone, besides the young Thrandullion, was fairly shivering under his blankets. The hobbits had even huddled together and spread their blankets over on top of each other, in order to get more warmth.

Harry, on the other hand, did not have a pallet or a blanket, just his black travelling robe, yet he looked to be more comfortable than even an elf would, and most importantly, he looked to be warm. He was not shivering in the slightest, his lips were not blue, and his body was not curled in on itself, as it was with the rest of the group, who all felt the cold. The only conclusion Gandalf could draw was that Harry had used magic to warm himself up.

Gandalf, of course, had never heard of such magic, and again he wondered why Harry had not offered to warm the rest of the Company, as he had with himself. It would certainly put a halt to the continuous hobbit grumbling that was getting on the old wizard's nerves, and no doubt Legolas's as well.

Gandalf reminded himself that Harry was likely still shy, or otherwise intimidated by the Fellowship, probably thinking they would attack him – as they had when first they met – if he dared raise his magic stick to them. Or otherwise he simply forgot to tell them about this _warming_ magic, which was a very dangerous thing to do in these dark, suspicious times. They needed all the aide they could get, after all.

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The next morning, after breakfast, Gandalf decided to go on again at once. There was no sense in lingering in this drafty, wide-open chamber, where they were more likely to be seen by unpleasant eyes. "We are tired, but we shall rest better when we are outside," he told his companions. "I think that none of us will wish to spend another night in Moria." Gandalf saw the hobbits and particularly Harry, nod most enthusiastically at this.

After rolling up their pallets and packing away the breakfast tools, the Company followed Gandalf out of the great chamber and under another archway. They found themselves in a wide corridor. As they went along it, a faint glimmer could be seen up ahead behind a half open door, wooded, and rusted at the hinges. They walked into the chamber. The light they had seen had been daylight that stemmed from a small high window in the chamber. The small strip of sunlight fell slantways down through the window, finally coming to rest upon a rectangular stone structure that could be nothing other than a dwarvish coffin.

They had walked into a tomb.

Many bones and skeletons were laying scattered about the room, as though whoever did so held no respect for the dead, and indeed, probably did not. Among the fettered remnants of dwarvish skeletons the Company could also see broken swords, axe heads, cloven shields, and helms, among that which were not only dwarvish in make, but also orcish, with blackened blades and scimitars.

"A great battle has taken place here. There were no survivors, I'm afraid." Gandalf walked towards the sarcophagus. "Here lays Balin. Son of Fundin. Lord of Moria," Gandalf read aloud the inscription on the tomb, the answering sobs from Gimli his only response. "He is dead then. It is as I feared," Gandalf added grimly and unnecessarily.

Harry, Gandalf saw, appeared confused at the proceedings, though, at the same time he looked to be awkwardly sympathetic to Gimli's plight, as if he understood the meaning of death. _'This,' _Gandalf thought,_ 'was highly unusual conduct for a wizard.'_

Gandalf looked down and saw, in the bony hands of an important looking dwarvish skeleton, a crumbling book, of which there appeared to be writings in both dwarvish and elvish. The paper crackled as Gandalf lifted the heavy manuscript and turned the pages.

"It seems to be a record of the fortunes or infortunes of Balin's folk. The first clear word is _sorrow_, and the rest reads, _day being the tenth of November Balin Lord of Moria fell in Dimrill Dale. He went alone to look in Mirror mere. An orc shot him from behind a stone. we slew the orc, but many more . . . up from east up the Silverlode._ The remainder of the page is so blurred that I can hardly make anything out. But I think I can read, _we have barred the gates. We cannot get out. Drums. Drums in the deep. We cannot get out. _The last thing written is in a trailing scrawl of elf-letters._ They are coming._"

The Company stood in silent horror at this last statement.

It was piercingly broken by a loud thud, followed by a serious of clattering clangs and scrapes that echoed horribly in the dense stillness of the mines.

Gandalf whirled around coming face to face with a sheepish and scared looking Peregrin Took, who stood next to a well.

"Fool of a took!" he snapped at Pippin, who looked contrite. "Next time throw yourself in and rid us of your stupidity!"

Gandalf had hardly spoken these words, when there came from the depths below them, a great noise, a _BOOM_ that seemed to echo continuously and ominously in the mines, and in their hearts.

"They are coming!" cried Legolas, stringing his bow.

"Who's coming?" asked Harry with alarm, taking out his magic stick.

"We cannot get out," said Gimli, axe raised.

"Trapped!" cried Gandalf. "Why did I delay? Here we are, caught, just as they were before. But I was not here then, indeed, neither was Harry."

The wizard in question looked dismayed at this.

_Doom Doom_ came the sudden drumbeat, now increased in its frequency.

"Who's coming?" Harry asked again, his eyes wide with nervous anticipation.

"Orcs!" spat Legolas, disgust evident on his face.

"Orcs?" Harry injected, a panicked pitch in his voice. "You mean those flesh-eaters? They're here with us? Now? In the mines?"

"Thanks to Pippin," Merry grumbled, sliding out his sword.

"Merlin! Is there anything I need to know about how to kill them?" he asked the Company, who were quickly gathering what weapons they would need and not paying him much attention. "Do they have any weaknesses?"

Gandalf, seeing Harry's panicked stance, took pity on him. "Kill them as you would kill a regular person with your magic." He noticed Harry blanch at this. "The light of the sun also repels them. But I do not know how that little bit of useless information can help you, as there is no sunlight in these accursed mines."

Gandalf half expected Harry to panic at this last statement, but, if anything, the younger wizard developed a dawning expression, before putting on the most determined façade Gandalf had ever witnessed. This was Harry Potter the Wizard, as Gandalf and the Fellowship had never seen him. Quite obviously he has some sort of magic planned. It should be interesting to view what he had in store for those filthy orcs.

The screeching and thundering was getting closer now. Boromir, in a foolish endeavour, stuck his head out the door, only to almost get it pierced by two orc arrows.

"They have a cave troll," he said grimly, before flinging the door shut. He, Aragorn, and Legolas then threw some long unused dwarvish axes across its holdings. Not that axes could stop a fully-grown cave troll and a hoard of orcs, but it might slow them down enough for the Fellowship to prepare.

Gandalf whirled around. "Protect the little ones," he told Harry, whom nodded determinedly and moved in front of the circle of hobbits huddled by the pillars; his little magic stick – its size deceiving of the true power it held – raised like the greatest of wizardly rods, and indeed, probably was.

"Let them come," Gimli growled from his perch on Balin's tomb. "There is one dwarf in Moria who still draws breath!"

And come they did.

The screeching of the orc scum was like a horrible echo that shivered down the Fellowship's spines. The orcs hacked first at the door, so that they made gaps in the wood. Aragorn and Legolas took this opportunity to launch a few arrows through the gaps. The squeals the Fellowship heard could only mean the arrows had found their mark.

But this brief moment of victory was obliterated when the orcs – who had been hacking non-stop at the door with their swords – finally cut straight through the barrier and soared into the room like a swarm of angry wasps that had just had someone trespass on their nest.

A screeching, dark, hideous and deformed sight they were, shaking their ugly manes, madly brandishing their weapons, and bearing their sharp teeth that seemed permanently inked with their black orcish saliva. They would soon overwhelm the room with their great number, and Aragorn and Legolas abandoned their slings and arrows and fought instead with swords and knives.

They struck. First advancing on Aragorn, Legolas, Boromir, and Gimli. Some escaped the first group and lunged at Gandalf, who parried their killing thrusts with dancer-like twists and turns of his staff and sword. The orcs trickling in from the door that sprang at the hobbits and Harry, however, did not make it passed their first attempt at killing.

The group of particularly gruesome orcs – who had that blank look about them – endeavoured first to slay Harry in order to get to the hobbits he was protecting. They didn't get a chance. After a few very fast _Stupefy's_, the orcs were found slumped in awkward sprawls on the ground, their gazes surprised, and their weapons held loosely in their claw-like hands.

The hobbits could only gape at this spectacle, never before witnessing magic used in such a way. Indeed, never before witnessing any such strange magic. They turned to a blushing Harry with dropped jaws and wide-eyes.

"I think I'll stick with you from now on Harry," Merry said, still nervously staring at the unconscious orcs and shuffling over to the young wizard. The other hobbits quickly followed suit.

Boromir had just lopped the head off the last orc when there came from the door a heavy thumping noise before the remaining wood splintered as a great, fat club burst its way in. The club belonged to an even greater and fatter, not to mention eye-wateringly smellier troll, whose tough hide looked like a mixture of damp dung and slimly mucus, and indeed, smelled like it as well, and its little eyes were only comparable to its even tinier brain.

It looked around the room for a moment, blinking stupidly at the Fellowship, before it moaned deafeningly, then charged, its great body jiggling with the movement.

Along with the troll had come yet more orcs, and half the Fellowship was distracted by them, while the other half attempted to subdue the monstrous creature.

The half trying to subdue the troll were Gimli, Legolas, Boromir, and Aragorn. It would charge at them with its club, raising it in the air before smacking it stone-crushingly on the ground, forcing the four males to scatter. Gimli, Aragorn, and Boromir hacked at the feet of the troll while it tried to whip Legolas – who had moved onto a stone pedestal – with a chain it had found lying on the ground.

Legolas was an elf, however, and he was too fast and agile for the troll's whip, dodging and ducking and swaying out of its path, his long hair flying in all directions. The troll finally made an error while attempting to hit Legolas; the chain curled, instead, around a pillar. The elf used this to his advantage by securing the chain with his foot, and running up it and onto the troll's shoulders, where he tried to let loose a couple of arrows. The troll's head, as most heads of trolls were, was made out of the same thick hide that covered its backside, and the arrows merely bounced harmlessly off its skull, forcing Legolas to jump gracefully off the troll and back on the ground.

But by this time more orcs had filtered into the room like liquid in a glass, and the Fellowship was now forced to divide its attention between the troll and the orcs.

Harry however, had had enough. If it was true what Gandalf said about orcs being allergic to sunlight, rather like vampires, he had just the spell for them. And as the orcs were starting to overwhelm the Fellowship Harry shouted in his loudest voice, "LUMOS SOLEM!"

A blindness obscured the eyes of the Company as a brilliant golden light erupted from Harry's wand at super speed, travelling to all corners of the room and a little ways beyond, frying the orcs where they stood. All that could be heard was a sizzling, shrieking sound, and all that could be smelled was burning orc flesh.

The light finally died down, and the spots in front of the Fellowship's eyes finally disappeared leaving them staring at the charred remains of about thirty orcs. And in the midst of these remains, looking even more stupid than usual stood the troll, who took one look at its fallen comrades before uttering a horrifying roar and turning to the nearest Fellowship member, who happened to be Frodo.

It happened in a split second. The Fellowship could not have stopped it even if they'd tried. The bulbous troll raised its large club, about to swing it down on Frodo's little head. Harry had a brief image of a cowering Hermione and a determined Ron before –

"Win_gar_dium Levi_o_sa!"

It seemed like deja vu to Harry as he thought of his first year. The troll even made the same stupid expression as the one in the girl's bathroom had when it found itself without a club. It even looked up at the floating iron mallet above its head in a kind of dumb wonderment, as though thinking that clubs didn't usually fly, especially ones only a troll could lift.

_THUD!_

The troll groaned, inducing a little pity from Harry, and collapsed on the ground, its large belly wobbling almost laughingly.

A silence descended in the chamber. It was broken by the dull clatter of the troll hammer as it fell from the air and onto its owner's fat head.

Harry gulped, the victorious feeling in his stomach fading away as he turned towards his companions with trepidation, praying, hoping, he could just disappear, and the memories of what he'd done to the orcs and the troll would disappear with him. But, it was not to be. He looked into the eyes of the Fellowship. The awed expressions on their faces caused him to duck his head down in a feeling of embarrassed anger. In the wizarding world he hated being stared at because everyone thought he was some big hero, and now, he felt exactly the same emotions stemming from the Fellowship, even Gandalf looked amazed, and he was a wizard. But there was another emotion lingering beneath the surface, and Harry was saddened to discover, as he looked into Pippin's eyes, that it was one of fear.

If a group made up of hobbits, elves, wizards, and dwarves should fear someone like Harry, then there really was no escape for him.

"The will of good works in mysterious ways, I always say," Gandalf said.

Harry's head shot up. He found Gandalf smiling at him knowingly. And after once more perusing the eyes of the Company Harry finally smiled back, understanding that the old wizard had somehow understood Harry's predicament, and apologised for it. Everyone else looked relaxed after that statement as well. Pippin even shuffled up to Harry.

"I'll tell you what, Harry," he said, looking up at Harry with eyebrows raised. "I now declare you as . . . my new Merry."

Nearly everyone laughed. Even Gimli chuckled appreciatively.

"Well, lad," he said in his gruff voice, "I've nothing against you now, you've proven yourself worthy as a member of this Fellowship." He bowed so low to Harry that his beared brushed the ground, and added, "Gimli son of Gloin at your most thankful service."

Harry grinned and inclined his head to the dwarf, knowing that now, things would take a turn for the better in his relationship with the Fellowship.

Gandalf laughed at the Fellowship's still incredulous expressions. "Did I not tell you that Harry has come to us as a gift from the Valar?" he reminded them. Then he grew sombre. "To the bridge of Kazadum," he said.

They ran through the halls and archways of Moria for the better part of half an hour, the _Doom_, _doom_ of drums, and the screeching of the orcs were always on their heals. They finally stopped at the top of a staircase that was cut from the same rock as was beneath their feet. The steps wound around a corner so they could not see the bottom.

"Lead them on Aragorn!" Gandalf said, placing a hand on the ranger's shoulder. "It is time _I _performed some magic now." Then he turned back the way they had all come and disappeared around the corner of an arch.

"But – " Harry began.

"Do not worry yourself over Gandalf, Harry. He will be fine," said Aragorn. "Now go!" he shouted to the Fellowship, and they flew down the stairs, Boromir in the lead, Aragorn bringing up the rear.

Boromir was forced to halt suddenly when the stairs around the corner disappeared. He balanced on the edge of a crumbling step for a few seconds before Legolas rushed forward and yanked him back. They fell in a heap onto the ground.

"We shall have to take the long stairs," Aragorn said, coming up behind them.

But just as they were going to veer off to the right where the second staircase resided, there came from the top of the stairs behind them a dazzling light, and even more _BOOMS_, a few minutes later Gandalf came whirling down the stairs and landed face-down on the ground at the Fellowship's feet.

"I've done all I can for now," Gandalf told them, as Aragorn helped lift him up. "But I've almost exhausted my magic. We shall have to make do without light for a while."

"No we don't," Harry said suddenly, taking out his wand. "We've got light. _Lumos_."

A white light, not unlike the one that usually radiated from Gandalf's staff, now glowed from the tip of Harry's stick.

"Wizard indeed," Gandalf said, smiling. Then he frowned. "But don't just stand here!" he snapped at them. "Go on! Go on! Where are you, Gimli? You too, Harry. Come ahead with me! Keep close behind, all of you!"

They travelled for what seemed like ages, even to Gandalf, who was the oldest among them and had, indeed, seen many an age. Down, up, across crumbling staircases they went. At the bottom of the seventh flight of stairs Gandalf halted.

"It is getting hot!" he gasped. "We ought to be down at least to the level of the Gates by now. Soon I think we should look for a left-hand turn to take us east. I hope it is not far. I am very weary. I must rest here a moment, even if all the orcs ever spawned are after us.

Gimli took his arm and helped him down to a seat on the step. "What happened away up there at the door," he asked.

"I do not know," Gandalf answered. "But I found myself suddenly faced by something I had not met before. I could think of nothing to do but to try and put a shutting-spell on the door. But even then the door can be broken by an orcish hoard.

"As I stood there I could hear orc-voices, they shouted _ghash_: that is "fire" in their own hideous language. And they seemed afraid. Something came into the chamber. What it was I cannot guess, but I have never felt such a challenge. It nearly broke me. I had to speak a word of Command, but even then the door burst into pieces, throwing me backwards down the stairs.

"And . . . I am _very_ thirsty," he added tiredly, looking at Harry.

It took Harry a couple of seconds to process the look. "Oh right," he said, and rummaged in his robes. He produced a small square box. "Just to warn you," he added, looking at the Fellowship. "Don't be alarmed by what you see."

He placed the small box on the ground in front of him, pointed his stick at it, and mumbled some foreign words. The Fellowship watched as the box grew to over hobbit-size so that it now resembled a travelling case. They observed Harry bend down, open it, and take out a small, drab pouch. Then they watched in disbelief as Harry stuffed his entire arm in the little pouch.

'_That is not possible,'_ everyone besides Gandalf thought.

"Here we are," said Harry, taking his arm out of the pouch and holding up a large wooden flask, that, they saw again with wonderment, was even bigger than the bag in which it had resided.

"The water in here is cooler and fresher than I can ever conjure manually," Harry told them, handing the flask to Gandalf. "And there's more water in there than you think, so everyone can have a long drink."

This cheered the Company, and the flask was passed around for a good ten minutes whilst everyone quenched their thirst. Aragorn, the last one to take a drink, stood there with the still unemptied flask in his hand, observing it from every angle.

"How is this possible?" he finally asked Harry as he handed him back the flask.

"Magic," Harry answered with a shrug.

"Do you have other things in that pouch?" Pippin asked. "Like that pumpkin cake?"

"Took!" Gandalf exclaimed.

"No, it's alright Gandalf. And yes, I have a whole barrel of food in here." Harry ignored the dropped jaws. "But I have something better than Pumpkin Pasties." He pulled out a huge block of Honeydukes chocolate. "It's called chocolate. It gives you energy."

"Ah!" cried Gandalf. "That is good indeed. We will need all the strength we can get. And you best give the hobbits two helpings each, Harry."

"No problem," Harry said. He broke off pieces of the chocolate and handed it to the Fellowship.

"But this is delicious," Legolas said, after first declining the offered chocolate, and then on Harry's encouraging nod, accepting it. "I have never tasted anything of the like."

"Probably cause it's a recipe from my world."

"You'll have to show me how to make it, Mister Harry," said Sam.

"Er, I don't really know how," Harry told them, scratching the back of his head. "You see, in my world, a professional makes the chocolate, and you just buy it."

"Ah," said Gandalf understandingly. "You buy this choke-let at the markets, then."

"Something like that," Harry said.

Everyone munched on their chocolates for a couple of minutes, forgetting for a moment, the orcs behind them. Then Gandalf turned to Harry, looking serious. Everyone watched interestedly from their positions on the steps.

"Harry I want you to be honest with me," Gandalf said, looking into the younger wizard's eyes.

Harry opened his mouth, looking angry. Gandalf didn't give him a chance to speak.

"I know you have been honest with us so far, you have not lied to us, but have you been telling us everything? That thing that flew out of that burning tree when the wolves attacked . . ." Harry stiffened at this. "We thought it to be a spy of Sauron at the time, but it was you, was it not?"

Everyone stopped munching, looking between Gandalf and Harry.

"Yes," the wizard muttered.

"There is no cause for you to be embarrassed, Harry. I only ask because I know it was you. You can fly then, can you not? Wizards in your world can fly?"

Gandalf watched as Harry's eyes flitted briefly to each member of the Fellowship before he finally said, "Yes," in the softest voice, that only Gandalf who was sitting next to him, and perhaps Legolas with his elven hearing, could hear.

"Well, sort of," he added. "Wizards in my world can only float. But we can fly by using devices, such as enchanted broomsticks and magic carpets. I was on a broomstick when you saw me that time."

"A flying broomstick?" queried Gimli. "Whoever heard of such a thing?"

Harry fidgeted. "I suppose I can show you if you want?"

"Another time perhaps, Harry," said Gandalf. "Now we must deal with those loathsome orcs sniffing at our heels. And we have rested here long enough. It is time to go onwards."

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They had run for about twenty minutes when Gimli, with his dwarf eyes that could see in the dark, spotted something in the darkness ahead.

"It looks to be light," he said. "But it is not daylight. It is red."

"_Ghash,_" muttered Gandalf. "I wonder if that is what the orcs meant: that the lower levels are of fire? Still, we can only go on."

As they travelled deeper into the mines, the air became very hot, and the red light intensified. They stopped at yet another arch, Gandalf stepping through, the red light briefly illuminating his face. Just as quickly he stepped back.

"There is some new devilry here. I know not what, but I feel it to be worse than even a hundred orcs. But one good thing I have seen. We have reached the First deep, the level immediately below the Gates. The Bridge of Kazadum is about a quarter mile further than that. Our journey through the mines is almost over."

"Good," gruffed Gimli. The others looked at him with some surprise. "This excursion has not been what I had imagined. I would rather feel the sun shine on my face than endure more darkness."

"You soon shall, my friend," said Legolas. "And even more than that, you will see the Golden Woods of Lothlorien. It is there, I am told, that the sun seems as if it shines perpetually, even at night.

"Glad I am to see the two of you extending the hand of friendship, but it is now time to continue," said Gandalf, and he gestured to the Fellowship to follow him through the arch.

It seemed like a monstrous chasm to the Fellowship. Pits extending deep into the ground glowed an eerie red that only a large fire, consumed with the reflection of shadows, could produce. Along the middle of the cavernous chamber, there were great-conjoined pillars, like the buttress roots of trees, and on top of the pillars ran a pathway. Sometimes a crack could be seen on the road, where hot wafts of air and red light spurted out.

It seemed, to some of the members of the fellowship, as though they had come to the very base of Mt Doom. To Harry it seemed like hell.

"Quietly now," Gandalf said. "We do not want to attract any orcish attentions. Harry, dim your light, we do not need it now. And stay with the hobbits."

But he had only just finished speaking when the _DOOM, DOOM_ of drums sounded behind, ahead, and all around them.

"Tis too late for quiet!" said Boromir.

"Run then! Run!" cried Gandalf, and he led them across the hellish path.

The chattering and screeching of the orcs could now be heard coming from the far left walls of rock. A couple of arrows that came swishing down on them further proved the orcs' presence. One even found itself stuck in Gandalf's hat, where it rested like a dashing black feather. Another struck Frodo in the chest, and for a split second the Fellowship thought he was done for, but the arrow merely pinged off to the side.

Gandalf was not the only one whom turned to Harry, thinking it was he who put up a shield to halt the arrow. But he merely shrugged at them looking confused, and said in a very strange expression of words, "Don't look at me," that they thought to mean was his way of saying he did not save the hobbit.

'_Hobbits,'_ most of the Fellowship thought as they turned to gaze at a sheepish Frodo. _'Were sturdier creatures than what they appeared to be.'_

As the Company ran along the path, they would find themselves having to jump over relatively small fissures occasionally. They had already leaped over two such splits in the road when they came upon one that was too large for hobbit, and indeed even dwarf legs to jump over.

The littler folk would have to be tossed across the gap.

And so it was with Legolas jumping over first, followed by Gandalf, and lastly Boromir, who tucked a Merry and a Pippin beneath each arm before leaping. By this time the path on either side of the gap began crumbling, before falling completely down into the fiery pit. The breach, now, was larger than it began.

This did not deter Gimli though, who, about to be tossed by Aragorn, exclaimed with all the pride of his people, "Nobody tosses a dwarf!" and sprang on his stout legs, almost, but not quite making it across the gap. If it were not for Legolas' arm attaching itself to Gimli's flapping beard, the dwarf would have followed the path of the crumbling road. As it was he still found time to shout, "Not the beard!" evidently valuing the fur on his face more than his own life, as was typical in all dwarvish customs.

Harry was next to leap over, though, he first had to take a deep breath and tell himself not to look down in order to do it. He sighed in relief when he made it safely across.

Aragorn then tossed Sam across the breach, just in time too, as the road further crumbled, forcing the last two members of the Fellowship to leap back, or otherwise fall to their doom. The gap was now so large that even a troll could not have jumped over it.

The rest of the Company stared in dismay, now certain that Aragorn and Frodo, the two most important people in the Fellowship, were permanently stuck on the other side with orcs, trolls and Valar knew what else. And to make it worse, the entire road beneath Frodo and Aragorn's feet began shivering dangerously, apparently not having had to bear anyone's weight in a long while.

"Harry!" Legolas said suddenly. "Could you not use your magic to help them?"

Harry whipped out his wand. "Yes, but only one at a time!"

Aragorn, who had heard Harry from the other side yelled, "Frodo first then, Harry!"

Harry nodded and pointed his wand. "Accio Frodo!" he shouted.

The hobbit cried out in sudden surprise as he found himself whooshing rapidly across the gap and into Gandalf's outstretched, and very relieved arms. The Fellowship then turned to watch Aragorn's plight. They saw, horrifyingly, that the giant pillars holding up the road across the gap finally exhausted themselves, taking the road, and the possible future king of Gondor, down with them into the chasm.

All Harry could think was '_Sirius'_, as the summoning spell fairly roared out of his mouth. It was three angstful seconds later when they all saw Aragorn soar up from the depths in front of them, and land bone-jarringly on the path by their feet.

Harry winced. "Sorry," he said.

But Aragorn smiled up at him. "I am not," he told Harry, as Legolas helped him up. "I thought I was done for. You have saved my life, and for that I will always call you a friend."

Harry smiled back.

"Now is not the time to linger!" Gandalf said a mite snappishly. "We must be on our way!"

They fairly flew down the path, avoiding yet more orc arrows, but this time Legolas shot back, and in true elven fashion he found his mark every time. They ran until they came to the end of the path, where another hall, though much less great than the Dwarrowdelf, stretched like a ford of black water before them. And beyond that, a little higher was –

"Look ahead!" called Gandalf. "The bridge is near! It is dangerous and narrow. Built in case of attack from the eastern side. Alas that the dwarves did not think to build the same defence at Durin's Door! Now lead them on Gimli! Harry stay by my side, I may need you yet."

They ran to the bridge, hundreds of orcs now following in their wake. Suddenly, Legolas cried out. They turned their heads and saw behind them, two more trolls, these ones lugging heavy catapults. But that was not what had made Legolas shout in fear. For out of the dark behind the hoard of orcs came a shadowy figure, large, and wreathed in flame. In one hand it held a blade of fire, and in the other a whip of many thongs.

"Ai! Ai! wailed Legolas. "A Balrog! A Balrog is come!

"_Ghash_," Gandalf mumbled, faltering. He closed his eyes and leaned heavily on his staff, now, more than ever before, resembling an old man. "Now I understand. What a misfortune. And I am already weary. This foe is beyond any of you. Run!"

They ran, not the only ones doing so. For the orcs took one look at the Great Demon and, screeching, disappeared to their many holes in the rock of Moria.

Loosing one foe, only to gain an even more frightful one did not escape the Fellowship's notice. And they wondered, with dread, what this one was capable of. Finally they came upon the narrow bridge, the hobbits crossing first, the rest following. As he reached the other side, Harry realised Gandalf wasn't with them.

"Gandalf!" he heard Frodo cry.

Harry turned with dread, knowing what he'd see, but still wishing it wasn't so. Gandalf stood defiantly in the middle of the bridge, his staff raised against the monstrous Balrog demon, which hovered threateningly on the other side.

"You shall not pass!" Gandalf cried.

The demon made a sort of sniff; looking, Harry thought, a lot like Lucius Malfoy had as he glared down at a cowering Dobby.

Gandalf, however, was certainly no Dobby.

He raised his staff even higher and spoke: "I am a servant of the secret fire. Wielder of the flame of Arnor. The dark fire will not avail you!"

The Balrog raised its fiery sword high in the air and brought it down hard on the old Mage. There was a blinding flash and Harry was certain that the next thing he would see would be two halves of one Gandalf. But as the light cleared Harry saw, with amazement, that the wily old wizard had conjured a light blue vapour that formed a protective shield around himself.

The fact that the Balrog had not been successful in its severing attempt only seemed to anger it, and this time it bought its whip into play, splitting it ear-wincingly through the air.

"He cannot stand alone!" cried Aragorn suddenly and ran back along the bridge. "_Elendil_!" he shouted. "I am with you Gandalf!"

"Gondor!" cried Boromir and leaped after him.

Harry thought for a second then shouted, "Hogwarts!" his wand raised.

As they ran Gandalf cried again, "YOU SHALL NOT PASS!" and he struck the bridge with his staff.

The bridge cracked right at the Balrog's feet and fell, along with the Balrog, down into the dark chasm.

"NOOOO!" came a deep guttural cry that echoed in Harry's ears, and for the life of him he couldn't work out which of the Fellowship had said it. Surely they wouldn't feel pity for the creature?

Harry shook his head. That didn't matter anymore. Gandalf was fine; he had survived without anyone's help. But as soon as Harry had the thought, the Balrog swung the whip, and it lashed, curling around Gandalf's ankle. Perhaps the wizard might have been able to survive this by hanging on to the remaining bit of bridge until help came, but the Balrog had still been holding onto the whip, so that by using its weight, it rapidly dragged Gandalf out of sight, just as Harry, Aragorn, and Boromir skidded to a halt by the edge.

"Fly you fools!"

The Fellowship would hear those parting words from Gandalf forever resonating in their minds.

Harry tried, in one last desperate attempt, to summon Gandalf to him, but it didn't work, because, he suspected, the spell was not strong enough to lift both Gandalf and the Balrog, who, Harry assumed, was still attached to the wizard via its whip. Or else the spell just didn't work on a person like Gandalf, who was full of Middle Earth magic. A magic that counteracted Harry's own.

"Come Harry! Harry! The bridge is collapsing, we must make haste!"

Harry felt someone grab hold of his arm and he didn't even try to shake it off, allowing himself to be dragged off the weakening bridge. A minute later he stood, blinking, in the glare of the sun. They were finally outside the Mines of Moria, and the person who led them here was not there to take the credit.

He felt like he'd been put through the vortex again. Sound did not exist to Harry. There only seemed to be pain; the one long, endless constant in his life. It was always about pain, and love, he thought. Pain cannot exist without love, because you have to care.

Harry's bearing rushed back at him, and with it the awareness of tears on his face, and Aragorn's argument with Boromir.

"Give them a moment for pity's sake!"

"By nightfall, these hills will be swarming with orcs! We must make for the woods of Lothlorien."

Harry tuned them out as he felt a pair of familiar talons settle on his shoulder.

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A/N: Yes, I know really powerful wizards in Harry's world, like Dumbledore or McGonagall, probably could have conjured a pumpkin pasty. But Harry can't do that yet, so Gandalf's thinking was correct.

The sunlight scorching the orcs bit. I wasn't sure if orcs fry in the sun, or if it just irritates them, so I just made them fry.

Here's a question for everyone . . . Do you think my chapters are too long? I know some people can't be bothered reading long chapters, especially when they'd rather go to bed. So, should I shorten them a bit, or keep them at this length? The reason I ask is that it takes me about two full days to write a chapter of this length. Distribute those days to when I actually have the time to write, and it might take me two weeks to finish, only if I go by writing a page a day. Plus, I'm also writing another story on top of that. If you guys don't think I should shorten them, that's all right, but it will mean a longer wait between updates.

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So, what do you think? REVIEW PLEASE!


	6. Elf Habits

Disclaimer: I own nothing except what my imagination creates. _Harry Potter_ and _The Lord of the Rings_ belong to J.K. Rowling and J.R.R. Tolkien, respectively. Not as many quotes in this chapter as in the last one.

A/N: Thank you to those who reviewed. I got fifteen for the last chapter alone. I love you guys.

I've decided to keep the chapters lengthy. And I hope I didn't give you the impression that I'll take a month or two to update. Nope, anywhere between two and three weeks. But, if it's going to take me longer than that to update I'll let you know beforehand.

**Chapter Six: Elf Habits**.

After much prodding and nudging and grumbling from the Fellowship – Merry and Pippin decidedly of the nudging and grumbling parts – Harry embarrassedly and with extreme red-faced reluctance agreed to show them his flying skills. Gimli in particular was especially interested – though he tried not to show it – because, according to him "Broomsticks were meant for sweeping the ground, not the air, lad. Tis unnatural, this witchery!"

Now here Harry was, tightly grasping his Firebolt, which he had just plucked from out of his enlarged trunk. He tried to ignore the Fellowship's stares, even tried to ignore Boromir and Aragorn start to spar, but it was extremely difficult; they were really going at it. And the strange thing was, that they weren't even sparing with swords, they were fighting, instead, with a big cow horn and a silver crown. They even seemed to have made some sort of contest out of it. The theme of which appeared to be Who Chuck's Their Opponent's Weapon the Furthest Wins. Aragorn won when he sent Boromir's horn soaring over Frodo's head. For some reason, Harry got the feeling that last bit was important.

Legolas, in particular, looked extremely put out by the 'existence' of Harry's Firebolt. He even made it a point to say that as Harry wasn't an elf, a twig like that could not possibly support his weight. Then he rounded up by staring extremely rudely at Harry's beautiful broom. It was obvious to Harry that the elf thought he had made some sort of a point, if the gigantic tilt of his nose was any indication. Harry didn't bother asking why the elf's nose had grown so much in the space of a few seconds, indeed, it seemed rather natural. He also didn't bother explaining about magic and how a charm was the reason why he could ride on a broomstick. They were about to get a demonstration anyway.

He swung a leg over his Firebolt, planted his feet firmly on the ground (he would need a good take off in order to impress them) and –

"Just a moment Harry," said Gandalf, walking towards him. Harry noticed with a start that Gandalf looked different. His white hair and beard were now shorter and neater. The same could be said for his clothes, which now looked like they had been ironed and bleached. His staff . . . well, it no longer looked as though it might be used for firewood. Rather, it resembled a large polished baton, except it was made of wood.

"You have forgotten something I think," said the old wizard, gazing at Harry with a sly smile.

Harry could not think what he had forgotten. He told Gandalf so.

"Ah," said Gandalf, holding up a finger. "Pat yourself on the head."

Harry told him he couldn't as his hat was in the way.

"But if you pat yourself on the head you will see what you have forgotten."

Harry patted his head. He noticed with some surprise that his hat was not on it. He had forgotten his hat. How could he have forgotten his hat! It was too important! Where was it? Where was his hat – ? Gandalf held it up to him.

Harry snatched it, relief sweeping over him. He had his hat. He had not lost his hat. Harry sighed once more, stuffed it on his head, nodded a thankyou to Gandalf, and prepared to launch off.

"Remember Harry," said Gandalf leaning over the Firebolt to whisper in Harry's ear. "Do not forget to loose your hat. Otherwise you may end up stuck; whether here or there will be up to you. And always remember; do not give in to temptation."

Harry nodded seriously, even though he didn't exactly know what Gandalf was going on about.

He soared into the air, leaving the green landscape below him. It was a wonderful feeling; the wind in his face, flapping his robes about. He flew higher, and higher, and higher. He glanced down. The trees looked like mere dots on the ground; he could no longer see Gandalf or the others. He ascended to an even greater height. He was higher than the clouds, higher than the earth. He was in space!

Something was telling him, in the corner of his mind, that this should have been impossible, but Harry went along with it. After all, it wasn't everyday that one got to see space from inside space.

The stars looked a lot closer than they did back on the ground. They were so big, as big as bludgers, and Harry found himself having to dodge them as he whizzed passed. He felt the hairs on his body singe slightly from the proximity of the burning globes.

Something began pulling him, sucking him in. It looked liked a swirly dark violet ice-cream cone. It was a black hole!

"No!" he cried, his hands grasping his broom in an attempt to steer it in another direction. "I don't want to go there. Leave me alone!"

It was like a vacuum. It sucked Harry to the edge and he tried with all his might to fly away, but it seemed as though even a Firebolt would not be strong enough. He desperately hung on to his broom; even so, the wind in the black hole whipped the hat off his head, sending it twirling away into the vast darkness.

"Noooooooooooooo!"

It had him! He was going to be next, he was going be dragged in, lost in the abyss, he was going to remain there forever –

"Harry? Harry?"

Harry jerked. Aragorn's bristly face was leaning over him, outlined by the morning light. "It is time to go," he said, clapping Harry on the shoulder. He went to wake the hobbits.

Harry breathed deeply; surprised to notice he was slightly sweating. It had all been a dream, just a dream. The vortex, the stars, the sparring, everything. Well of course he'd been dreaming! Gandalf was _not_ alive. He was dead. Fallen off the bridge in the Mines of Moria. And he'd certainly never looked like he had in Harry's dream. He was dead and he wasn't coming back.

Harry felt bitter.

Yet another friend gone.

It didn't seem to matter that he'd only known Gandalf for five days before; he distinctly felt the loss of the old wizard. He had to acknowledge, he supposed, that he wasn't feeling it as keenly as the rest of the Fellowship, especially Frodo. The hobbit had been looking dejected ever since their escape from Moria. By questioning Merry and Pippin, Harry discovered Frodo had known Gandalf all of his life. It had to be horrible for him, and with that ring around his neck adding an extra burden, well, Harry could not understand why Frodo wasn't angrier with the world.

Later on, before the Company started off again, Harry was forced to wonder about the meaning of his dream when he couldn't find his hat anywhere. He put it down to loosing it the night before. After all, it had been dark, and they hadn't lit a fire because the orcs would have been able to see it. The only light available to them had stemmed from Legolas – and for a short time, before Aragorn told him to put it out – Harry's own wand. It also wasn't out of sorts that he had lost his hat on their trek from the mines to the Silverlode River – a full day journey. But somehow, he didn't think that was the reason.

Harry decided he would think on his hat later. Right now there were more important things going on. From listening to Legolas' and Gimli's conversations, Harry discerned the wood they were about to enter was called Lotho-something or other, and that it was run by elves. Wood elves, to be specific. It turned out that in Middle Earth there were different types of elves. Harry pondered on whether some might have looked like house elves, in which case he could now evaluate his earlier thought of not telling Merry and Pippin about elves in the wizarding world.

But he did find one thing out; Legolas was a wood elf, and if Gimli's grumblings gave any indication to the matter, wood elves were a highly suspicious lot, prone to jumping from behind trees and sticking their arrows into unsuspecting people's faces. But Harry already knew that, as he had been a first hand witness to Legolas's distrustfulness.

The Company were walking amongst the trees now. They were slivery golden in colour, and looked entirely too fake to be real. They also seemed to let off the same otherworldly glow as Legolas did. In truth, it was creepy. And Legolas certainly wasn't helping matters in that regard, as he felt prone to bursting into spontaneous bouts of song every now and then. Harry couldn't exactly relate, though he did understand that this _Lothloreen_ or whatever, was Legolas's 'sort of' home, or more like this was where his "kin" resided, as Legolas called the elves living in this forest. Harry felt the same way about Hogwarts, his home away from home. Not that Private Drive had ever felt like home to Harry, but it was where he had lived for the first eleven years of his life.

The next mile of travelling was spent basking in the radiance of the forest. Harry found out – with some surprise because he hadn't been excepting it – that it was winter. He also found, by discreetly observing Aragorn and Boromir, that the elves here were supposed to be friendly; only _if_ you weren't evil and only _if_ you didn't carry evil with you. Er, yea, so did that mean everyone was safe? Aragorn seemed to think so; Harry was of a like mind as Boromir.

They stopped now to rest by another river, this one named Nimrodel, where Legolas had to sing yet another song, which, Harry found, featured the word _Nimrodel_ a lot, and was supposed to rhyme, but because Legolas had had to translate it from elvish, it didn't sound as good as it was really. So Legolas claimed. Either way, Harry couldn't understand it.

After Legolas's soprano performance, they set off again, passing the river Nimrodel and venturing deeper into the woods. For the first time since he'd arrived in Middle Earth, Harry found himself missing Ron and Hermione. Here he was, on the adventure of all adventures, and they weren't with him to bask in it. Somehow that didn't feel at all right to Harry. He felt empty. As though the places on either side of him were just waiting to be filled with Ron's stupid jokes and Hermione's constant lecturing. Couldn't the vortex or whatever it was think to pick up at least one of his friends along the way? Then Harry wouldn't have to feel so alone.

He hadn't realised it until now, but he had never felt lonely since he'd arrived in Middle Earth because of Gandalf. In Harry's mind Gandalf was a wizard – no matter that he came from a different branch of magic – he was still a wizard, as was Harry. In his presence, Harry had felt . . . not so alone. He supposed it also helped that Gandalf had looked uncannily like Professor Dumbledore, so there was some familiarity there, too. But now that Gandalf was gone . . . Harry sighed miserably. He really was all alone in this strange new world. Unless, of course, he found another wizard to travel with; but that was about as likely as Ron and Hermione turning up.

When he'd been alive Gandalf had told him there were four other wizards out there, beside himself. By name and reputation, Harry knew of only one; Saruman: The White Wizard, who, in actuality, was not so white on the inside. Gandalf – and to a much larger extent, Merry and Pippin – had been the soul suppliers of this gossip (but only if Harry bribed the hobbits with food first) and save for Harry brandishing an "I Love Sauron" sign under Saruman's nose, it really wasn't likely the wizard would go to the trouble of laying out the crumpets and tea.

If they even had crumpets and tea in Middle Earth that is.

That thought only served to depress Harry, as he was once again reminded of his aloneness.

A few seconds passed as Harry pondered on this unpleasantly vast feeling. He would have continued to ponder even more, if Hedwig hadn't landed on his shoulder. He glanced at her from the corner of his eye and saw a small grass snake, already dead thankfully, dangling from her beak. He smiled fondly at her. He wasn't really all that alone after all.

Gimli chose that moment to scare the hobbits witless.

"Stay close young hobbits," he whispered gruffly, and not a little nervously, holding tight to his axe. "An elf witch resides in these woods; of terrible power. All who look upon her, fall under her spell, and are never seen again."

Frodo looked particularly freaked out by this. His large blue eyes grew even larger and he began turning his head this way and that, prompting Sam to ask if he was alright. Harry was ambiguous in his feelings. On one hand he felt pleased he would be meeting a witch (it got him wondering if she used a staff like Gandalf's) on the other hand, what Gimli was saying about her . . . well, it sounded like she was a Veela, which, being an elf, wouldn't be far from the truth.

Gimli sniffed. "Well, here's one dwarf she won't ensnare so easily. I have the eyes of a hawk and the ears of a fox!"

Perhaps Gimli shouldn't have said that last bit because he only served to embarrass himself in the long run. About twenty arrows suddenly sprang up from behind the trees, or more specifically, their owner's sprang out from behind the trees. No one it seemed, not even Legolas, had heard these elves coming.

Harry blinked. It took him all of half a second to process that every one of them looked liked Legolas. The height, the hair, the eyes, the use of arrows as their foremost weapons, it was unnatural. Harry wondered if wizards in Middle Earth looked as similar to each other as elves obviously did.

An elf – the leader apparently because he carried no visible weapons – stepped up in front of Aragorn, which alarmingly put him near Harry. As it was, Harry had been alternating between walking next to Pippin and Aragorn the entire trek. He wished now he'd stayed near Pippin.

The elf had hardly opened his mouth and Harry knew he was going to say something derogatory. He had that definite Draco Malfoy feel to him. Harry knew; he had dealt with enough Malfoy's to tell. Besides, the expression on his face told buckets.

"The dwarf breaths so loud we could have shot him in the dark."

Complete with sneering upper crust accent, too, it seemed. Behind him, Harry heard Gimli growl.

But he wasn't exactly paying attention to that right now. Instead Harry was really wishing that the elf beside him would remove the arrow he'd planted under his left nostril. It was extremely uncomfortable. The elf's face was inscrutable, but Harry had a feeling the elf was enjoying causing him distress. Harry clenched his jaw. It was on the tip of his tongue to tell the elf just what he could do with the arrow when it happened; in a blur of white fluff. It couldn't be better timed if Harry had planned it out himself.

Hedwig – from either extreme boredom or on behalf of Harry's honour – lunged from his shoulder and, screeching madly, planted herself on the elf's head, her talons digging, probably not so gently, into his scalp.

"Ai!" cried the elf in surprise, dropping his bow and arrow in order to grab at Hedwig. But she flew upwards before he could get her, dumping the dead snake on his now messy platinum head. And the elf, looking especially _un_graceful, flapped his arms near comically in an attempt to get the serpent off. He finally calmed down enough to do it, plucking it from his hair with forefinger and thumb, and – with the ugliest expression of disgust ever displayed by an elf – flinging behind him into the bushes.

Harry was trying desperately not to crack up. And he wasn't the only one. Boromir, the hobbits, but mainly Gimli, seemed to be holding back guffaws as well. But they weren't doing a very good job. A sudden attack of the cough seemed to be the main cover up for the hobbits and Boromir. Gimli, however, appeared to be going for a less subtle approach in the form of outright laughing behind the blade of his axe. It obscured his face, if not the sound.

The elf in question was puce with embarrassment. Harry supposed having a missile of white feathers attack you would make even the most prudish elf act un-elfish. He looked to be arguing with the head elf in their own language, and every once in a while he would gesture in Harry's direction. Aragorn and Legolas got into the argument now, but they looked, at least, like they were trying to smooth things over. Aragorn held up both hands imploringly and all three elves stopped their squabbling to listen to him.

Finally, after a few minutes of jabbering back and forth Harry was summoned by Aragorn to join the quartet. Well not exactly summoned, more like Aragorn waved at him and Harry walked over.

Harry positioned himself between Aragorn and Legolas, feeling awkward and self-conscious at the glares of the two other elves.

"Harry," began Aragorn. Harry noticed he looked a bit reluctant to go on.

"Yes," Harry said, slightly drawing out the _e_ sound.

Aragorn opened his mouth, but at that moment Hedwig, who'd been resting on a topmost branch of one of the trees, fluttered down onto Harry's shoulder and quite regally began preening her wings. Everyone present could not mistake the symbolism of this gesture, even though the _Lotho_-elves found it to be completely bizarre behaviour for an owl. No doubt they couldn't work out how a bird should be so intelligent as to show arrogance and territorial feelings. Though that first one could also be found in dogs, but certainly not birds, and especially not owls, who were known to be wild and untameable.

The elf Hedwig had attacked clenched his fists, and he eyed the owl as though he'd like to see her spiked and put on a fire. Harry nervously gestured for Hedwig to climb down to his forearm, in case he needed to protect her.

"So," Harry said, this time shortening the sound.

It was Legolas who answered. "Orophin would like an apology Harry," he said.

"No way!" cried Harry angrily, glaring at the elf who now had a name to go with the sneer. "I didn't do anything!"

"That is not the principle of the matter," Legolas continued. "Twas your bird that attacked Orophin. You are in charge of it, therefore, you apologise."

"I'm not apologising," Harry persisted, stubbornly. "I didn't do anything. He was the one who shoved an arrow in my face. Is it my fault Hedwig wants to protect me?"

Legolas sighed, a little impatiently. "That is what sentries do Harry. They cannot let anyone pass without inspection first."

"Oh, so their inspection (Harry made the traditional inverted commas sign at the word 'inspection') includes poking people's noses with pointy objects, does it?"

Legolas looked stumped for a second, (possibly because he hadn't recognised Harry's gesture) but he soon recovered and opened his mouth. Harry didn't give him a chance to speak. "If anything, _he_ should apologise to _me_ for invading my person. You don't just go around poking people with arrows." He addressed that last bit at Orophin.

Orophin, however, appeared only to speak elvish, and Harry's entire speech had gone completely over his head. But then after asking the head elf something, and getting a reply in return, Orophin grew even redder than before, pursing his lips so much that he made Aunt Petunia look like an amateur. He glared at Harry a full ten seconds before exploding with a bashing of elvish that made Legolas's eyebrows shoot up and Aragorn's mouth to drop open. He obviously hadn't said anything wholesome.

"Please Harry, just apologise," Aragorn said, sounding tired. Harry immediately felt guilty. More important things than his pride were at stake here, and he, Harry, could possibly be alienating potential Fellowship allies.

"Fine," he bit out. He waited a few seconds before apologising, just to make them stew. "Hedwig is sorry."

He heard Gimli stifle a snort behind him.

Orophin however, assumed this was a real apology, and he inclined his head (a bit mockingly) in Harry's direction. No one bothered to inform him what Harry had actually said. Perhaps they couldn't be bothered getting into another argument? Whatever it was, Harry considered himself the victor in this little spat.

As Harry turned to his two companions he saw that Legolas was shaking his head, and Aragorn appeared to be trying to hide a smirk.

"What?" Harry told them, and added. "It's not like he can understand me, is it?"

"No he cannot understand you, though his brother can, and he is looking none too pleased at the moment, so I suggest you refrain from speaking anymore, Harry."

Harry decided to follow Legolas's advice as he looked to the head elf and the head elf's glowering eyebrows. Of all the rotten luck.

"Er – sorry," he offered, this time genuinely, but only because he had forgotten the head elf could understand him. The elf in question did not appear to appreciate his efforts. Instead he granted Harry another glower and settled on ordering the Fellowship to accompany him up a tree.

A ladder appeared as if by magic alongside the trunk of the tree. It was sliver in colour and looked like it couldn't support an ant let alone a full-grown person. But other than a bit of frightened grumbling from the hobbits (they were scared of heights, it seemed) the Fellowship followed the head elf up the ladder.

There was much confusion among the elves, however, about what to do with Gimli. Harry didn't understand this at all. He hadn't seen Gimli do or say anything offensive to the elves, except for laughing at them. But surely that didn't warrant the outright hostile behaviour some of them were showing the dwarf. If anything, it should be Harry who should be so disliked by them. That wasn't to say some of the elves hadn't looked like something unpleasant might have been pushed under their noses as Harry passed by them, but the majority mostly ignored him.

Still, it had taken the elves a good five minutes of solid arguing with Aragorn to finally let Gimli climb their precious tree. The dwarf, however, was not too inclined to follow their orders. It turned out that dwarves disliked trees as much as elves disliked dark enclosed spaces. He had to climb it in the end though, or risk being run over by a troupe of stampeding orcs. But he did so with a heavy dose of dwarvish grouchiness, among which the words "dwarf-tossing" and "something . . . something – my axe!" were discernable.

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It was a slightly despondent Company sleeping in the trees that night. None of them – besides Legolas, who looked to be right at home – had ever recalled having to spend the night in a tree before. It was, surprisingly, not so uncomfortable, only if you ignored that the ground was one hundred feet away and the only thing keeping you from splattering on it was a thin square plank supported by a couple of branches. Legolas called it a _Telan_.

Harry was sharing one of these _Telan's_ with Merry and Pippin. The other members of the Fellowship had divided themselves on a couple of other trees. Earlier on, when they had climbed the ladder, they had found that the dense foliage had obscured a network of elvish constructions near the top of the trees. The elves had placed rope bridges extending from one _Telan_ to another, (that could be untied if the situation called for it) some _Telans_ even looked like houses. In fact, the whole place had the feel of a large, Amazonion tree house society, but distinctly more civilized and clean.

Harry also learned that this was not actually Lothlorien (that was its real name, as supplied by an indignant Legolas), but an outpost, where the guards of the city watched out for any dangers. The head of these guards was titled the March Warden. The particular March Warden whose brother Harry had insulted was named Haldir, who, it turned out, had another brother named Rumil. Rumil, unlike his relatives, seemed easy going and quick to laugh. In fact, he had laughed as Harry walked passed him earlier to climb up the tree, but Harry didn't think it was from derision or scorn, but rather, humour at what Hedwig had done to his brother. Even though Rumil knew no Middle-Earthian, Harry still assumed he was the younger, may-care one of the three brothers. His cheery disposition certainly painted him that way.

Later on, before Merry, Pippin, and Harry were about to fall asleep, Legolas dropped by (and he did drop, straight from another tree to theirs, in the process scaring Pippin who'd thought something large and unpleasant was attacking them) to tell them that Lothlorien City was still a day away. So that meant even more travelling, only this time with a group made up mostly of uppity elves, of which only some appeared normal and laid-back.

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Harry was having another unpleasant dream. The difference between this one and the last one was that this time he actually knew he was dreaming. In the dream he had gone through the same process as before; he about to mount his Firebolt, with Aragorn and Boromir competing with their crown and horn, respectively, and Gandalf dressed most peculiarly. This time, however, Gandalf didn't tell him to loose his hat; instead he said not to let it go. Harry replied by saying he couldn't let it go as he didn't have it to begin with. Gandalf had only smiled.

As Harry soared into space, avoiding the stars and reaching the black hole, he decided that – since he knew he was dreaming this time – there was no reason for him to fear the black hole, and he let it suck him in. The feeling of whirling incessantly was not terribly pleasant. He feared the contents of his stomach would implode. Then he reminded himself that it was only a dream after all, and he couldn't, in actual truth, throw up; likely his stomach had no contents in it to begin with anyway, as it didn't really exist.

The black hole swirled him in its depths for what felt like years. Finally, he and his Firebolt were spat out of the pointy end, landing on a fluffy cloud. Well, not exactly landing, rather they both fell through it, and Harry, who had lost his wits, presently found them again, and – as he was plunging to the ground – gathered them and his Firebolt and brought himself to a halt just before he reached the earth.

He noticed with some surprise that he had landed in front of the Herbology greenhouses at Hogwarts. It was night time, and the moon shone eerily on the window-paned roof, reflecting a silver shimmer back onto itself. This eeriness was perhaps why Harry thought he must have imagined seeing the dark shape, still as silence, sitting on the roof. Presently, the dark shape moved into a stream of moonlight and Harry was now looking at Fawkes the Phoenix. He was grey and ugly, to fit in with his surroundings. In his talons he was clutching Harry's abandoned wizard's hat.

With a mournful trill, Fawkes dropped Harry's hat onto the ground at his feet and took flight, soaring up passed the battlements and through a window in one of the towers.

Harry bent over and snatched his hat, placing it quickly on his head. He was never loosing it again if he could help–

Whispering woke him up.

Hobbit whispering.

More specifically, Merry and Pippin whispering, which meant it was noisy enough to wake even those resting ten trees away.

"What's going on Merry? What do you think they found?" Pippin said, leaning in closer to Merry's ear. They were both lying flat on their stomachs and peering over the side of the _Telan_.

"I don't know," answered Merry. "But it didn't look to be an elf."

"Where was it going?"

"Up Frodo's tree. He saw it and called out. Now the elves are trying to catch it."

"You don't think it was an orc do you?"

"Orcs can't climb trees Pippin," said Merry sounding exasperated.

"They can climb rock, and if they can climb rock they can climb trees – and trees have plenty of sturdy branches that you can grip, let me remind you – so it'd be easier for an orc to climb a – "

"But it wasn't an orc Pippin! They travel in groups, and this thing was all on its own. And did you not hear Frodo telling Aragorn; it was a little creature, near hobbit-size."

"Lucky Frodo was awake then."

Harry moved over to join Merry and Pippin, stretching himself to lie flat on his chest, and gazing over the side.

He saw the silvery heads of a bunch of elves scattered below him, presumably searching for footprints or the like.

"How come the elves didn't see it?" he asked Merry, who almost jumped out of his skin.

"I didn't know you'd woken up!" he exclaimed, clutching a hand to his chest.

"Sorry," said Harry, meaning it. He hadn't thought to scare anyone. "So how come the elves didn't see it coming?"

"I think they might have, but they were waiting to see what it'd do first, if you follow me."

"But now they've lost it," Harry guessed, telling himself not to snicker. He found he couldn't really like elves. Four out of Five of them were too much like Malfoy for him to attempt getting chummy with.

"Seems a bit foolish of them doesn't it?" said Pippin, who felt no reserve to hide his tittering.

The three continued watching the elves scrounge about and converse with each other for another half hour or so until they became drowsy and agreed it wasn't very interesting watching elves talk in a language any of them could hope to understand, so they went back to sleep.

Harry had lied down with Merry and Pippin but he found he wasn't sleepy anymore, for now he knew the meaning of his previous dream, or at least, he thought he did.

Harry held up his black wizard's hat.

He had accidentally sat on it as he was lying down. Either he was going crazy and the hat had been with him the entire time, or, Fawkes really had given it to him in his dream. At some point in the past Harry would have thought this occurrence, if he could call it that, would be an impossibility, but now, with everything he'd been through and all the wonders of magic he'd witnessed, he couldn't really dispute the fact that it might actually be a fact.

With this conclusion, Harry assumed Dumbledore had finally managed to help him in some way. Perhaps he had put a spell on the hat? Made it into a portkey maybe? Harry reminded himself to examine the hat further the next day.

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"It has disappeared," said Haldir, sounding exasperated. "You are sure it was this Gollum creature?"

"I saw it," explained Frodo, for the tenth time that night. "It was almost upon me when I saw its eyes lean over the top of the _Telan_, like those of a warg's glinting in the moonlight. I believe I never want to see those eyes again," he concluded with a small shudder.

"It must surely be a creature of great evil to be able to escape the piercing gaze of the elves," Haldir said, with a nod at Frodo. "What think you Aragorn?"

Aragorn removed the pipe from his mouth. "I think this should be discussed on the morrow when we reach the city. Gollum is part of the reason we are on this quest, though only a small part, but a reason nonetheless."

"Very well, then. I cannot say I am glad you are withholding information, but Galadriel has already told me to expect that you might."

"Indeed."

"It is strange that this Gollum creature should choose to attack a hobbit, if that is what it was all about – out of all of you, they pose the least threat." Haldir said as he and Aragorn made their way over the bridge and to unoccupied _Telan_, leaving Frodo and Sam to converse amongst themselves. "I understand it is usually the way of things for bigger creatures to assault smaller ones, but I do not think that is the reason for it this time."

Aragorn only sighed.

"I understand," said Haldir, who had caught the sigh. "This is another topic you can not speak of as yet."

Aragorn nodded, puffing on his pipe.

"But perhaps you can speak of one; one that has me most curious," Haldir prodded. It was obvious to Aragorn what Haldir was implying.

"You speak of Harry Potter," Aragorn stated.

"Yes," said Haldir shortly, sounding frustrated. "He is like no child of man that I have seen. He carries an owl on his shoulder – one who apparently obeys every one of his commands and whose shade of colouring is not natural – his clothes are also peculiar, and his speech – it is like that of, well, it is very different. He does not have any manner of decorum, nor does he appear to show respect to those older than him, and he is clearly the youngest in your Company. I know not how to explain it.

"And what is that jewellery he wears framed over his eyes? It is ugly, and I always assumed trinkets were worn to enhance not to deter. Does he hail from Rohan? I hear they have peculiar habits there. Though I do not understand how he could be from Rohan, his features are too dramatic for it to be so. Indeed, I have never seen any man look quite like he does, not even you, and you have elvish ancestry in your blood."

Aragorn did not answer immediately; he sat there taking a last breath of pipe weed before indulging Haldir. (Though truth be told, he probably liked to leave the elf in suspense)

"This has you so confused because Harry is _not_ a child of man," Aragorn explained. "He may not even be a child; Mithrandir had thought he might be three hundred years old, or more."

Haldir flapped a graceful hand. "That is impossible," he scoffed.

"It is not," Aragorn said, taking a drag of from his pipe.

"But he is not an elf! He might be fairer of face than the average man, but that is all we share in common. I do not believe it, it is impossible!" Haldir said again.

"It is very possible," Aragron maintained persistently, yet calmly. "Because Harry is not a child of man, nor is he an elf. Harry is a wizard."

"Wizard!"

"A very powerful one."

"I do not believe it!"

"I have witnessed the feats of magic he has performed. I tell you true. Frodo, indeed many of us, including myself, would likely be dead if it were not for Harry and his stick."

"Stick?" queried Haldir, who was still so shocked by what he'd heard that he had jumped on the first available topic that seemed safe.

"It is his staff, his magic stick. Like Mithrandir's, but smaller."

"I have never heard of such a wizard who looks like a child and has a twig for a staff!" Haldir maintained his post stubbornly like a first-rate March Warden should.

"No doubt," said Aragorn, detaching the pipe from his lips, "because he is not of this world. He has travelled here passed the stars and the heavens. Mithrandir believed he was sent to the Fellowship to help us, and I have come to believe it also in the days past."

"Not of this world?" Haldir echoed. "That is even more ludicrous than what you previously said! None can travel between worlds, if such a theory even exists."

"You shall see," was all Aragorn said, and the two moved to other topics.

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Harry woke up the next morning to Merry's grinning face hovering over him.

"Wake up Harry! It's breakfast time," he said happily, and turned away to join Pippin for an apple.

Harry sat up and yawned, his arms stretching to the sky.

It was chilly, he realised.

Glancing around in case there were any probing elven eyes – though he doubted he'd see them even if there were – Harry discreetly slipped his wand from his pocket and enlarged his trunk. Digging through it he bought out the food pouch and his cloak – then shrunk it again.

"Merry! Harry has the food out!" said Pippin, after seeing Harry go through this procedure.

Merry and Pippin, with Harry dutifully following, spent the next half hour discovering the delights of toast, kippers, and cornflakes – Hogwarts' house elves had really outdone themselves – all of which were largely supplemented by the two hobbits until they were fit to bursting at the seems.

Later, they confused the elves and the most of the Fellowship by declining the food that was offered, which were the usual sausages Sam favoured, as well as a biscuity looking substance the elves complimented. It appeared only Aragorn, and possibly Gimli, had guessed as to why the hobbits had suddenly decided to go on a 'diet.'

They finally set off again with the morning still young, turning west with Haldir and his brother Rumil. Orophin and the rest of the elves were left to guard the outskirts, and Harry could not say he was sorry to leave them behind. And he wasn't going to miss sleeping in a tree either, no matter how comfortable it seemed.

Legolas was inclined to say goodbye to the Nimrodel River, and looking, to Harry, rather airy as he did so. Like Professor Trelawney almost. Harry had silently snickered at the thought of she and Legolas coming face to face.

After a lot of walking through nothing but more forest, where Harry discovered the blisters on his feet, which were a long time coming, they finally reached the upper part of the Silverlode River. Here, Haldir brought them to a halt.

"There is one of my people yonder across the stream," he said, pointing.

Harry could not see anything. Then Haldir whistled like a bird and from the trees an elf stepped out, clad in greys and browns – a perfect camouflage. He, too, carried a bow and a quiver of arrows.

The Fellowship watched as Haldir untied a lengthy rope from his belt – as flimsy looking as the ladder – and toss it expertly over the stream, with no apparent forethought behind the act. The rope was caught just as expertly by the elf across the stream, and then tied off around the trunk of a tree. Haldir did the same with his end of the rope.

"We do not set foot in this river so far in the north, unless we must," he said, after securing the knot. "We do not build bridges either because it would be less easy for enemies to enter Lorien, if they should pass the Wardens. This is how we cross. Follow me!"

Haldir jumped onto the thin rope – that was wobbling alarmingly with the breeze from the rushing river – and with no fear whatsoever lightly jogged across the rope to the other side and back again, as though he was doing nothing more than walking along a footpath.

Harry could only think that Haldir was a bit of a show off, especially as there was only a thin _string_ separating him from the cold, energetic, nasty river below him. And he had positively no idea how Haldir expected them to cross that _string_. Legolas was having similar thoughts apparently.

"I can walk this path," he told them modestly, and stepped up to the rope. "But the others have not that skill. Must they swim?"

_Not likely._

"No," said Haldir. "We have two more ropes. One shoulder high and one half-high. With care, the rest of you can cross the river."

Harry eyed the high rapids and the fast swooshing water that had enough strength to drag a person down to the bottom. He gulped.

The hobbits were of a similar mind. They did not fancy crossing a river on what seemed like a less than sturdy rope – even if it was of elven make. They protested. It didn't get them very far.

Harry wished he could fly across. He might not exactly like elves as a whole, but he didn't want to scare them, which he undoubtedly would if they witnessed his skills on a Firebolt. He didn't fancy having to deal with the inevitable fling of arrows that would come his way if he did.

Presently, Legolas, then Rumil, jumped on the line of rope and, with as much grace as that of Haldir before them, casually ran across it. This longevity, this flexibility of the limbs, this fearlessness, Harry assumed, was a trait available only to the elven race.

And so, after Haldir secured two more ropes, they crossed the stream. Everyone but Merry – whom seemed to be part elvish and fairly flew across the rope – shifted painstakingly along. By the time they reached the other side their fingers were rubbed raw from holding tight to the cord for so long, and their legs felt as wobbly as the rope they'd just left. It had been hardest on Gimli, however, because he was already so weighted down with heavy weapons and chain mail that it had been doubly difficult for him to cross. And if he should've happened to fall, well, he'd have sunk straight to the bottom. When Boromir (the last person) had finally crossed, everyone silently agreed on one thing; they were never crossing another rope above a dangerous stream ever again.

"Now, friends," said Haldir as they forced their tired legs to step towards him. "You have entered the Naith of Lorien. We allow no strangers to spy out the secrets of the Naith. Few indeed are permitted even to set foot there. As we agreed, I shall here blind the eyes of Gimli the Dwarf, the others may walk free for a while until we come nearer to our dwellings."

There was instant uproar from Gimli. Harry would have voiced the unfairness of it all if the dwarf hadn't beaten him to it.

"The agreement was made without my consent!" he growled. "I will not walk blindfolded like a beggar or a prisoner. I am no more likely to betray you than Legolas or any other of my companions. I am no spy!" he declared, and Harry was reminded of the situation when he first met the Fellowship, and how he'd defended himself of the same accusation; an accusation made by Gimli himself.

Harry was, by nature, not a vindictive person. He could have sat back and laughed at Gimli's predicament, claiming it was all _tit for tat_ or _what goes around comes around._ But, he realised with a sudden shock, that he was friends with Gimli now, and he didn't even know how it'd happened. It was as if Gandalf's death had bought the entire company closer together, especially closer to Harry. Gandalf had trusted Harry, so maybe, on some subconscious level, the Fellowship wanted to honour his memory by grasping Harry into their folds. Now, at this moment, Harry felt like he was truly one of the Fellowship. Because of this, he couldn't let the Lothlorien elves blindfold Gimli, it just wouldn't be right.

But before he could speak up Haldir opened his mouth. "I do not doubt you," he told Gimli. "Yet this is our law, and cannot set it aside. I have done much in even letting you cross the river."

Gimli maintained his stance. "I will go forward. Or I will go back and seek my own land, where I am known to be true of word, though I will perish alone in the wilderness."

Haldir sneered nastily, "You have entered the realm of the Lady of the Wood," he said, lifting an arrogant brow. "You cannot go back. You will be slain if you so much as attempt to cross the river again."

At this biting speech, Gimli drew his axe from his belt. Quick as lightening Haldir and his companions loaded their bows with a few very nasty looking arrows. Seeing this, Harry produced his wand; the _Protego_ spell on the tip of his tongue, should Gimli need protection.

Aragorn, seeing Harry remove his wand from under his robes, thought things had finally gone too far. "No Harry," he said forcefully, clasping a hand over Harry's wrist; the one that held his wand. "No magic will be used today. I am still in lead here," he continued, turning to address the Fellowship. "And I say we will all be blindfolded, even Legolas. That would be best, though it will make the journey slow and dull."

Gimli approved of that. "I agree to this, only if Legolas abides by your words and is also blinded."

"A plague on dwarves and their stiff necks!" spat Legolas, going red. "I am an Elf, and kinsmen here!"

But it did Legolas no good to protest, and in time Gimli, Harry, the rest of the Company, and lastly a begrudging Legolas, were all blindfolded. It did not skip Harry's notice the specific order in which this process was done. The people the elves trusted the least had their eyes hampered first, and Legolas, who was an elf, was blindfolded last.

At length they set off again, first fearing that a trip over a tree root would be inevitable, but then becoming more relaxed as the hours passed. The elves steered them over any potential ankle-breaking dangers, and they were free to let their other senses wonder, now that their foremost sense – sight – was no longer available to them.

With a jolt Harry was once again reminded of Hogwarts.

Now that he couldn't see, he could smell, and taste and _feel_ – for lack of a better word – the nature, the fresh dew still lingering from the morning mist, the squish, (and on some occasion) the crackle of the leaves below his shoes, somehow feel the glow of the sun (not the warmth, but the actual glow) caress his face, and be able to smell the slight tingle of magic that seemed to encompass this forest. It was a scent, a sensation, he had always experienced at Hogwarts; only at Hogwarts. What it was seemed like an embrace, a buzz of the senses he had always felt when he'd come too close to a magical structure or object. He felt it again, now, in Lothlorien. Though somehow, the feeling was slightly different, tinged with an impassably older scent: timeless, almost. Less obscure than Hogwarts. Ageless, yet fresh. It was wonderful. Harry loved it.

He was glad, suddenly, that he couldn't see. He never would have experienced this awareness if he could. He never would have been reminded of home. Strangely, that thought did not make him sad anymore.

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After a few more hours of trundling slowly along, the company of elves, men, hobbits and not to forget a dwarf and a wizard, began to hear voices. They were quite obviously elven voices because there was a slight musical lilt in the tone. Plus the fact they were speaking elvish could have had something to do with it.

Harry heard Haldir start up a conversation with them.

"You are now to walk free," he told the Fellowship after a couple of minutes of chatter. "Even Gimli the Dwarf." Haldir sounded despondent as he said that last bit. Harry wondered why Lothlorien elves persisted on adding Gimli's race in conjunction with his name. It wasn't like everyone didn't know what he was.

"New messages from Rivendell have come, and it seems the Lady knows who and what is each member of your Company," Haldir continued, then added, to Harry's horrified shock, "Except Harry Potter, the wizard, if he can be called that. The Lady made no mention of you. You shall continue to be blinded until we reach the interior of the city and the Lord and Lady have passed judgment."

_Passed judgment?_ That didn't sound at all healthy.

Haldir's voice had come directly from Harry's left, so Harry addressed his grievance in that direction.

"That's completely unfair!"

"We will speak no more of this matter," he heard Haldir say.

"Oh yes we will!" spat Harry, clenching his fists at Haldir's _better than though _attitude. "If you don't untie me, I'll – I'll let Hedwig attack you!"

A sound came then, the strain of bending wood. Harry's suspicions were confirmed when Aragorn said quickly, "I beg you, lower your bows, Harry did not mean it –

"Yes I did!" injected Harry.

Aragorn's tone turned forceful. "You did _not_," he said, slowly. Harry got the drift, though he didn't like it. "In any case, Harry's threat was hollow, the owl cannot attack anyone; she is not even with him at the moment."

"Yes she is! She's always with me. You just can't see her," Harry lied. Hedwig was, in truth, snoozing in a tree a couple of miles away. She'd been exhausted that morning because she had spent all last night watching over Harry. "If you shoot me she'll probably peck your eyeballs out."

Haldir's voice came from behind clenched teeth, though Harry couldn't help but notice that it sounded a bit apprehensive. "Call off the bird then!"

"Why, is she here?" Harry asked, his tone hopeful. _Perhaps he'd been wrong_?

"Nay, but if she is where you said she is then she can see me now. Tell her not to attack me."

"You mean I have to keep the blindfold?"

"Yes," came the short, unfulfilling answer.

Harry sighed. "Fine," he said, sullenly. He lifted his head to the sky. "Hedwig!" he yelled. "Don't attack the nice elves!"

He felt a bit foolish shouting at nothing, but it added to the overall intimidating effect. He might not have been able to take the blindfold off, but at least he'd gotten one over Haldir.

Elves, it seemed, were frightfully wary of Hedwig. He had to remember that.

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An hour or more passed, this time Aragorn was the one leading Harry over any stumble-worthy forest nuisances. The elves had taken to completely ignoring him. He wondered briefly if they mightn't be related to Hermione.

It was getting on to midday, Harry thought, and the sun was at its most powerful. No more was it shining pleasantly on Harry's face; rather, it was now starting to burn uncomfortably. He needed his hat.

He had stuffed the tip of it in his belt that morning, so that it hung like a pouch at his waist. He unplucked it now, and placed it on his head. He didn't have time to feel relief from the absence of the sun, however, because something strange happened.

"Good afternoon Mr Potter. I'd wondered when you'd finally put me on your head. It's been terribly uncomfortable swinging from your hip like that.'

His hat was talking.

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This is my favourite chapter so far. I had fun writing it.

So tell me what you think?

Review please.


	7. Galadriel and the Talking Hat

Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter. J.R.R. Tolkien owns The Lord of the Rings.

A/N: I AM SO SORRY! I had absolutely no idea that I couldn't accept anonymous reviews. Now I can though, so feel free to review away. Thanks again Orient Fox.

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**Last Chapter:**

"_Good afternoon Mr Potter. I'd wondered when you'd finally put me on your head. It's been terribly uncomfortable swinging from your hip like that._

_His hat was talking._

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**Chapter Seven: Galadriel and the Talking Hat**

"Actually, I'm not. I'm thinking. There is a difference."

"Er –" Harry began.

"Shh, boy!" the voice in his ear hissed. "Do you want everyone to hear you? If you want to talk to me, start thinking, that's the only way we can communicate without being heard. On second thought don't think anymore than you have to. Your head's about as complicated as Albus's, and that's saying something. You're bound to give me a migraine."

'_You're the Sorting Hat!'_ Harry blurted in his thoughts, though he couldn't imagine why it suddenly looked like his own hat. And how did it get here?

"All in good time, Mr Potter. Now, what have we here? My, my, what an interesting place you've landed in. Middle Earth is it? You've met a wizard I see, and elves? Hobbits? Orcs? That was a very good use of the sun spell, I must say. A King of Snakes? But he's dead now. And what's this? There's a Dark Lord here as well? I dare say you certainly know how to pick them.

'_I didn't pick –!'_

"Yes, yes, we all know _that_! You're very angry. They've blindfolded you. Very untrustworthy, these elves."

Harry wondered if it would be terribly rude of him to tell the hat to shove off.

"You can't shove me off!" snapped the Hat. "And yes it would be very rude. And start walking would you? If you hadn't noticed the elves have ceased to ignore you."

Harry hadn't even realised he'd stopped. He quickly picked up the pace.

"Exactly," said the Hat. "My magic's almost run out, you know. I hadn't anticipated this. No, no, not at all."

'_What hadn't you anticipated?'_ asked Harry, almost stumbling over a stray rock on the path. If it weren't for Aragorn's hand on his arm he would have went flying.

"Your negligence!" the Hat spat, causing Harry to jump. "What do you mean by not putting me on? Didn't the dreams tell you anything? I'm important!" said the Hat pompously, and added, "Not to mention I nearly fell in that blasted river as you were crossing the rope. What would you have done if I went frolicking down stream, eh? Or drowned? I tell you what you would have done; you would have been stuck here forever! Unlike myself."

'_What do you mean?'_ Harry asked very quickly.

"My magic's almost run out, that's what I mean. I can't last here forever you know. You might say that I only exist in your head. _Your_ hat is sort of an anchor for _me_. My essence will soon disappear. Of course, we could have had a much longer chat if you'd have thought to –!"

'_Yea I know!'_ Harry interjected, annoyed. _'Now how can I get home?'_

Harry didn't hear the Hat say anything for a good two minutes. "It's been my experience," it said finally, "that the only people who are chosen by the phenomenon –"

'_What?'_

"I'm talking about the vortex! But I can see now I'll have to amend that theory to lightening bolt. But I digress. The only people who are chosen by the 'lightening bolt' are chosen because they are needed. You are needed here Mr Potter."

"So what does that mean?" Harry asked apprehensively. He really didn't want to know what the Hat was about to say.

"I know not of what you ask, Harry." Aragorn's voice boomed into Harry's left ear. He jumped.

"What?" Harry asked. He hadn't realised he'd spoken aloud. "Er, no, I mean, I–I was just talking to myself," he told Aragorn. Inwardly he was cringing at the lame excuse. "Er – wizards do that often where I come from?" he offered even more lamely.

'_Oh. Shut. Up.'_

The Hat tutted irritably. "Pay more attention," it said. "But you have to know, Mr Potter, the reason you are needed here. It means you cannot go back to our world until you have completed whatever it was you were chosen to complete. I have a feeling it's this business with the Ring."

' –_? – ' _

"That's most impressive! You not thinking anything, I mean," said the Hat in a complimentary tone. "Have you been practising your Occlumency? No I see that you haven't. Must have shocked you into Silence of the Mind, then. It happens to the best of us, not to worry. Although I should mention it only happens when the person experiencing it is about to go into a nervous collapse."

'_B-but, how can I get back?'_

"I'm told dreams are very wondrous, complex things," the Hat responded, sounding, for a second, a lot like Professor Dumbledore.

'_How long can you stay?'_

"A couple more hours. But I'm leaving you with a gift. Only don't take me off your head in that time!"

'_What sort of gift? And you still haven't really told me how I can get back. If you mean by falling asleep and dreaming . . .?'_

"That's exactly what I mean! You, of all people, should know that dreams can be very real. Your experience last year should have told you that! And Albus has it all worked out. But remember, no matter how hard Albus tries to remove you from here, the phenomenon will still not allow you to leave this world until you have completed your task, whatever it is. So you better get cracking!"

Harry wondered how he could get cracking when he didn't even know what his mission was.

"All in good time," said the Hat again. Harry was becoming rather annoyed with that saying.

"We are nearing the gates of the city, Harry."

Harry started; Aragorn's voice had again come from outside his head. He hadn't been expecting it, and it had sounded extra loud.

"Er – alright then. Does that mean I can take my blindfold off?"

"Not until you have council with the Lord and Lady," Aragorn told him, sounding reluctant and sympathetic at the same time. "I am sorry."

Harry only nodded. He didn't blame Aragorn.

"He seems to be a good man, from what I can read," the Hat stated suddenly. Harry forced himself not to jump this time.

'_He is,'_ Harry told it.

"Listen to him," the Hat suggested. "He seems wise. I'd like to have a poke through his head, see what I can find out. The quiet people are usually the ones with a lot of interesting tid-bits floating around all the impenetrable corners. Well, impenetrable only to those who aren't adept at Legilemency."

'_Right.'_

"Speaking of Legilemency, you're lucky, you know, that you put me on when you did."

The Hat paused. It seemed to be waiting for Harry's reaction. Harry supplied it.

'_Why?'_

"Because someone is trying to poke around in here, that's why. It's that elf witch the dwarf was going on about. You're lucky she hadn't tried earlier, she was too preoccupied with that hobbit, Frodo, to give any thought about anything else. But as soon as she heard from the scouts that a stranger had joined the Fellowship, one who wasn't part of the original nine, well, you can guess what she tried to do."

Harry would have been horrified about some strange witch poking around in his head, if it weren't for the Sorting Hat saying that last bit. _'What do you mean, _tried_?'_

"She can't enter you're head, Mr Potter, because I'm on it. I'm a master Occlumens after all, as well as a master Legilemens. I'm proud to say she is quite frustrated at discovering a barrier where your mind ought to be. No one's mind has disallowed her entry before, you see. She doesn't know what to make of you, really.

"And now I'm sorry to say that your council with the Lord and Lady will not be so welcoming. They are usually very objective to strangers, because Galadriel, the lady, can read anyone's mind to determine their intent, but now, because she can't read yours . . . Although I have to say, it's most impressive that she can extend her mind over such a great distance, and without eye contact, too. She must be a very powerful –!"

'_Can _you_ read _her_ mind?'_

"Oh my, yes. Well, only in the strictest sense. Legilemency is not without rules after all. And I'm sure you know the mind is too complex a mystery to uncover all of its secrets. But technically, yes, I can 'read' her mind, but only because she was trying to enter yours. I can't now, though, since she's gone away.

"I should say she's had a very interesting life. Something about some sort of jewels in the background, there. And a war between elves? And it might interest you to know that she is immortal, too. Can't die, I mean, as all elves apparently can't. I gather _she_ is more than eight thousand years old."

Harry was now forced to wonder how old Legolas (who looked to be only several years older than Harry) or Haldir (who looked to be in his late twenties) were.

"Quite old, I'm sure," said the Hat.

'_Is she – is she nice?'_ Harry asked it.

"From the flashes I saw, she's friendly," the Hat told him. "Now why don't you pay attention to your surroundings, try to glean any useful information. Ask Aragorn where you are now; I shan't bother you until you need me." The Hat became quiet.

'_Hang on!'_ Harry said suddenly, thinking of something. _'If you only have enough magic in you to stay for a couple more hours, what, I mean to say, how can I stop her going into my mind when you leave?'_

Harry had a horrid thought then; an image of himself surrounded by sniggering elves and gazing adoringly at a Fleur Delacour look-a-like who sat on a costly throne. The image went even further as Harry saw himself reciting improvised poetry on bended knee then jumping heroically from the top of a _Telan_, only to find that the ground wasn't exactly as squishy as he'd imagined.

The Hat snorted. "You have quite a vivid imagination Mr Potter. Incidentally, the elf witch is not a Veela, even if she might look like one, as all elves do. But I have to say, you would have done well in Slytherin. They are notorious for their imaginations, after all. Ambition, that's what it's all about. You need a healthy imagination to strive for ambition!"

Before Harry could protest that slyly put statement, the Hat pressed on, "Now we get to the gift I was telling you about. If you continue to keep me on your head, that is to say, continue to keep your hat on your head, because, after all, I won't be here and your hat will be just that, an ordinary, or almost ordinary, hat. (Harry wished it would get to the point.) In a moment, Mr Potter, in moment. Now that we have ascertained that you will keep your hat on your head at all times, and I by that I mean don't take it off even when you go to sleep, your mind will be protected from any external onslaughts. Even that ring!"

Harry had not felt any particular desire to steal the ring, besides that ugly feeling he'd gotten from Frodo before the Company had entered the Mines of Moria. Perhaps it was because he didn't belong here, and the ring's magic tampered with his own?

"That could very well be true, but we can't hold to that! What if, down the track, you do get attracted to the ring? No, it's best to keep the hat on, you understand Mr Potter, on!"

'_Alright!'_ Harry spat. He was amazed that just one day ago he had been wishing for some familiar company from earth, and now that he had it, he didn't want it anymore.

"Tut tut, Mr Potter," the Hat said. Harry imagined it would have been pursing its lips in annoyance if it had lips to purse. "Now ask the man walking beside you where you are at." It became silent once again.

Harry cleared his throat, but before he could speak Aragorn told him, "We have reached the interior of the city now, Harry. We are at the foot of the Lord and Lady's quarters. It is a long way to the top and with many a stair to pass over. We now have the Lady's permission to remove the cloth from your eyes, so that you may ascend them."

Harry would have jumped for joy if he knew it wouldn't make him look stupid. Instead all he said was, "That's good," and allowed Aragorn to take off the blindfold, in the process making sure to keep a tight hold on his hat.

Harry blinked away the spots from his eyes, removing his glasses from under his robes (he'd had to rest them in his robes so the elves could place the blindfold around his head) and putting them on. He was now facing what looked like a staircase made of glitter, or glass. It was glowing, like the elves. In fact, Harry noticed as he looked around in awe, everything to do with elves seemed to glow. The trees, (which were humongous) the staircase, (which wound in a spiral up the tree and, Harry saw with dismay, did not seem to have a boundary of any sorts) the clothes of the elves, (which all seemed to be either green, grey, brown, or silverish) and the elves themselves, (who were entirely too pretty).

And they _were_ entirely too pretty, Harry realised as he and the rest of the Company followed Haldir and a few other elves up the tree. They had just passed on the stairs a female elf, the first one Harry had ever seen. She seemed to be exceedingly pretty, but not in that bewitching way a Veela was, but rather, making you turn your head for a second, third, or even fourth look.

'_If that's an ordinary girl elf, how will the queen look?'_

Harry gulped at the thought.

Finally, they reached the top of the stairs. Harry was about to wonder why his legs didn't feel tired, but then another thought intruded. He probably didn't feel tired because in the passed week he'd been walking everywhere! And the Mines of Moria had steps by the trunk-full. It stood to reason his legs wouldn't tire out on some piddley elven staircase that only took fifteen minutes to trudge up, as opposed to the Moria steps where it took you half a day, and at night you'd wake up with a chronic back pain from walking vertically for so long, (so Pippin explained, or rather, complained).

The Fellowship had arranged themselves in a sort of line, with the taller people at the rear and the shorter in the front. Haldir and his accompaniment of elves had moved off to stand at the side; their hands folded in front of them, looking for a moment, in Harry's eyes, quite serene and not at all displaying their usual performance of Sneers–R–Us!

'_Probably aren't allowed to act properly disdainful in the queen's presence, wherever she is.'_

As soon as Harry had the thought, _they_ descended; from the top of a short flight of steps. Harry had never seen anything so bright in all his life. He even took his glasses off and

polished them on the side of his robes thinking that they might have been playing tricks on his mind, but when he put them back on again the couple were just as bright as before. Though, Harry had to allow that a higher percentage of brightness seemed to be stemming from the queen. Harry noticed he wasn't the only one of the Fellowship who was in awe.

The couple halted near the bottom of the stairs. They mightn't have looked ancient, but they certainly _felt_ ancient. Harry didn't know what it was that led him to that conclusion (despite the fact that he did, in truth, know that they were _far_ off into retirement years, thanks to the Sorting Hat) it could have been because of the expressions on their faces. So wise, yet so, so _dispassionate_, as though they had lived through every situation imaginable and could not be surprised by anything anymore. _Maybe even me?_ Harry thought hopefully.

The king spoke; "Nine there are set out from Rivendell, and nine stand before me. Yet one is unfamiliar," he looked straight at Harry, who tried for a politely neutral expression. "Tell me where is Gandalf, for I much desire to speak with him?" Harry hoped that question hadn't been addressed at him.

The queen spoke then, in a low, melancholy voice; "He has fallen into shadow." The surrounding elves cried out in shock.

Harry, however, thought she looked rather creepy with her violet blue eyes glazed over like that, staring into nothingness. Quite obviously she had read somebody's mind, and Harry had a nasty feeling it was Aragorn, because Harry had been certain he had felt his body tense up.

Neither the king nor the queen looked particularly surprised at the information that Gandalf was dead. Perhaps the queen had known before hand from reading Frodo's mind, and all this was just a show to intimidate the Fellowship? Perhaps they were beyond showing any sort of expression at all?

The queen continued; "Your quest stands upon the edge of a knife. Stray but a little and it will fail, to the ruin of all." She looked directly into Boromir's eyes as she said this. The poor man looked scared out of his wits. Harry began to feel a prickle of anger. What right did she have in raping people's minds? Just because she was a queen . . .

She still wasn't finished. "Yet hope remains while company is true," she said, looking at Sam. Sam, unlike Boromir, seemed to smile. "Do not let your hearts be troubled." She looked up now, her eyes, once again, glazing over. "Go now and rest, for you are weary with sorrow, and much toil. Tonight, you will sleep in peace."

Harry almost slumped with relief. It looked like he would be getting a reprieve, at least for that night.

"However . . ." the queen continued, and Harry froze up as those creepy eyes looked straight into his own. "We have not addressed the issue of Harry Potter. The rest of you may go."

She seemed to have wilted slightly, looking almost normal, possibly because Harry was immune to her mind's influence. Harry then watched Aragorn, his usual salvation, walk down the steps with the rest of the Fellowship, an encouraging sort of smile on his face. Harry turned back to the king and queen, and gulped.

The queen walked towards him now, or more like glided. Harry forced himself not to take a step back. He had his fearsome reputation to protect after all. Couldn't let Haldir see what a whimp he felt like. The queen, who was only slightly taller than Harry stretched a hand under his chin and gently lifted it up, so he was forced to look into her eyes. Harry only hoped his hat wouldn't fall off. "A wizard, so they say, from another world, with orbs to outshine even Elendil. Such a beautiful shade," she muttered, her eyes bearing into his own. "Not quite of grass, not quite of leaf . . . emeralds. Yes, emeralds. And hair so dark it would disappear at night."

Harry discovered, in that one little moment, that not all elves were like Draco Malfoy.

"Why can I not read you?" she asked, and Harry stiffened. "Could it be because you have mind power of your own?" Harry said nothing. "Could it be . . ." she repeated. "You have great power. Great Magic," she stated. "I have seen or heard of none like you in all my years. But I sense . . . something. You are an innocent, that I do believe."

Harry would have sighed, but she still hadn't let go of his chin. In fact she stroked it a bit with her thumb. Harry couldn't help himself, he blushed. He'd never had such intimate contact with anyone except his closest friends (and Cho) and even they hadn't touched his face like Galadriel was doing now. And she was a very pretty elf, too, way prettier than the girl elf he'd seen on the stairs. He was certain Galadriel would inspire him to look back not only a fourth time but a seventh and an eighth as well. He had a feeling Ron would be doing something incredibly stupid right now if he were in Harry's position, like cart- wheeling across the platform and flipping off the edge. And it wasn't anything like Veela magic at all; it was plain female magic, which Harry had only experienced once before when he'd still felt for Cho. He desperately hoped he wasn't getting a crush on the queen. That would be, just . . . horrible!

"Haldir," said Galadriel, not taking her eyes off of Harry's. Haldir stepped forward. "Take Harry Potter down to his companions, so that he may rest. We have badgered him enough as it is."

Harry blinked. He certainly hadn't been accepting an apology of sorts, but he was grateful nonetheless. Haldir offered Galadriel and the King two short bows. Harry, seeing him, did the same, but he hadn't counted on how stupid a bow would look on a person who'd never had to do one before.

Haldir was pure tranquillity as he gestured for Harry to follow him down the stairs. Harry realised something then as he observed Haldir's almost magnanimous expression; everyone was a little bit in love with Galadriel, it just couldn't be helped, rather, like Harry couldn't help being a wizard. This, Harry assumed, then led them to do things that weren't generally in their character when confronted by her presence, such as not acting prudish, and not outwardly insulting someone.

Harry was not pleased to discover, a couple of minutes later on the stairs, that he had been right in his assumption.

"You are lucky, Harry Potter," said Haldir, his sneer firmly planted back on his face. "The Lady appears to have taken a liking to you."

"Indubitably," Harry deadpanned (he had heard Hermione use the word once). Haldir looked at him cross-ways, as if he couldn't tell whether Harry was being serious or not. Or maybe the word hadn't been invented in Middle Earth yet?

Whatever it was, Haldir ignored Harry's momentary lapse of annoyance and continued, "Where is that bird of yours? She is not in Lorien, otherwise we would have seen her cross the gates." He glanced at Harry through the corner of his eye, as if trying to gauge Harry's expression. Harry didn't offer him one. "You will not see her for a while, I think. No animal can navigate Lorien for long, especially an animal that has no business being here. She will be lost. She will circle Lorien for days trying to find you. Then she will give up."

Harry didn't bother to mention that unless Lorien had a magical ward around it that stopped post owls from finding the place Hedwig could come in whenever she pleased, that went the other way too. He also didn't bother to mention that Hedwig was about as stubborn as a mountain in that she wouldn't budge when she thought something was right, or some barrier got in her way. He also didn't bother to mention that Hedwig was extremely loyal, and that she would never give up on Harry. Instead, all he said was, "You seem to forget that Hedwig is a wizard's owl," and left it at that.

Then he quickly stepped off the stairs, having spotted the Fellowship walking in the distance, leaving Haldir behind so he wouldn't have to see his reaction.

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Passing under the trees of Lorien, flanked on either side by a hobbit, Harry walked to the direction Aragorn had pointed when he'd asked him where he could wash. Harry had jumped at the excuse to get clean first (before any of the Fellowship had thought to utilize the opportunity), as had Merry and Pippin. Where, after all, could they have bathed in the Mines of Moria? The others would wait until Harry and the two hobbits were finished with their baths.

It wasn't a very large pond, was the first thought Harry had as he and his companions stood by its edge. It wasn't very large but it still managed to maintain a little waterfall, gushing out from the boulders surrounding it. But the pond didn't look, at least, as though it were filled with mildew and pond scum. In fact, it was so clear that Harry could see straight to the bottom. This posed a problem for Harry. He had thought that the pond would be wide enough and deep enough that he wouldn't be able to see under the water. He was, by nature, quite shy after all. Now, he would have to get his boxers wet.

Harry politely averted his gaze as Merry and Pippin stripped off and jumped in the pond, in the process splashing some water on him.

"Sorry Harry," said Pippin, waving an apologetic hand, then Harry was forgotten as the two hobbits frolicked in the water.

Harry took a deep breath and shed his clothes extremely quickly, making sure to leave on his hat and boxers, and slid into the water. Too late, he found it was icy cold. He just managed not to shout. He bounced from foot to foot to warm himself up. He desperately wanted to wash his hair, it was, no doubt, extremely dusty from the trek, not to mention itchy, but he dared not, heeding the Hat's warning. Instead he picked up his soap from the bank (some elves had bought soap, towels, and fresh clothes earlier on) and lathered himself up. He would give anything right now to be back in the prefects bathroom with its many choices of shampoos and soaps, and its warm, inviting water.

Harry noticed Merry and Pippin were busy chattering away – something about mushrooms – so he quickly slipped off his last bit of clothing and chucked it on the bank. He really, really wanted to wash his hair. He remembered the last words the Hat told him before it left for Hogwarts and earth.

"_Remember Mr Potter, do not take off your hat, under any circumstances, while you are in Lothlorien, or near that hobbit. And get cracking!" _

"Easy for you to say," Harry now mumbled grumpily, lathering the damp curling tendrils at the base of his neck, the only bit of his hair that he _could_ wash. "You're not stuck in a world with mind-reading elves, evil rings, no plumbing, and March Wardens who, for reasons unknown, are jealous of you."

"Why've you still got your hat on, Harry?" asked Merry, a puzzled crease between his brows. Pippin had on the same expression.

"Er –" said Harry, feeling stumped. Then without thinking, he offered Merry and Pippin a similar excuse to what he'd told Aragorn. "That's how wizards wash where I come from, keeps us focused."

Harry shut his eyes to keep from seeing the hobbits' reactions, groaning in disbelief at the lameness of his excuse.

"That's very odd. But I know wizards are strange folk with their strange ways. Just look at Gandalf!" said Pippin, then he seemed to grow sombre in remembrance of the old wizard.

"Hear hear!" Merry continued, not so heartily. "I remember his fireworks."

Though Harry could have now kissed Merry and Pippin for their naive Hobbit minds, he chided himself for making them think of Gandalf.

A few minutes passed and the hobbits decided they'd washed enough, and climbed out of the pond, drying and dressing themselves with the essentials the elves had given them. Harry told them to go on without him, that he'd wait a few more moments. It was something that Pippin mentioned as he and Merry walked back to the rest of the group that had Harry almost banging his head against a boulder at his stupidness.

"_If only hair could dry in a few seconds, then I wouldn't have the bother of it leaking down my back,"_ Pippin had said, and added. _"Now I've gone all cold again."_

With that, Harry took off his glasses and placed them on the bank, then he drew a deep breath and dunked his entire body under the water, including his head and hat. He surfaced thirty seconds later and lathered an extreme amount of soap in his hands then with one hand holding the front of his hat, he stuffed his other hand under the hat and scrubbed his scalp until his arm felt tired, then switched hands and repeated the process. Then he dunked under again to wash the suds out. When he came back out of the water he felt the pointed part of his hat lying heavy against his back, and fairly streaming out water, while the base of his hat lay floppily around his head and passed his eyes.

The main reason why Harry thought he couldn't wash his hair was because his hat would get wet and hang stupidly over his head. This would have garnered some suspicious stares. But now, thanks to Pippin, he remembered that he could change that.

Harry hoisted himself onto the bank, digging his wand out of his robes. He swished the wand over himself, performing the basic drying charm that could be found in the _Standard Book of Spells: Grade Three._ All water evaporated from his hat and body. Now all Harry had to do was change. He wasn't going to put on his jeans and shirt, or his Hogwarts robes, they were too dusty and dirty. The elves had given him elven clothes to wear, and offered to wash his own while he wore theirs. Harry had declined, saying he could wash the clothes, as they belonged to him. He didn't fancy giving the elves another excuse to come up with questions if they felt the material of his jeans. He also wouldn't put it passed Haldir to sneak into the washroom to try and glean any of Harry's secrets from out of his clothes, not that he could, but, Harry just didn't like it that strange hands might handle his clothing.

Now, Harry picked up the pair of dark green elven pants that felt like suede and held them in front of his body. They really were nothing more than tights. Harry scrunched up his face, but knew there was nothing else for him to wear. He carefully slipped them on, feeling proud he'd worked out that the flap in the front side of the pants was to help tie it up. They were a bit loose about the hips, but otherwise comfortable, even if they didn't do much for his image. Next was the shirt. It was long, thin, but felt like velvet, and looked a bit like it too. It was a light violet colour and Harry had trouble navigating it at first. He couldn't work out how to tie it up. He knew he had to put his arms through the sleeves, but after that . . . oh right, now he saw. It was a wrap-around thing, like a tunic. The sleeves fell loosely over his hands so only the tips of his fingers were visibly. Next came the boots. They were dark green also, and rather Dumbledoreish except they weren't shiny and didn't have heels.

All in all, he had to admit, the clothes were alright. At least he didn't feel as sappy in them as he'd thought he would.

Harry's next task was to wash his own clothes and runners. Unfortunately he didn't exactly know any household spells, (he wished now he'd taken the time to ask Mrs Weasley) so he would have to wash them by hand.

It took the better part of half an hour to sufficiently scrub the smudges of dirt from his jeans and the dried mud from his shoes. His robe and cape were another story, however. A great amount of the bottom of both was literally covered in dried mud, which had now turned into dirty dust. It took him twenty minutes to dump, lather, scrub and rinse. He knew all about washing clothes, after all, he'd had to help Aunt Petunia wash sometimes, because the Dursley's, who had always been very stingy with money (except when it came to Dudley), did not own a washing machine.

A few minutes later found Harry arriving at the Fellowship's designated sleeping spot – on the ground in the hollow of a great tree (much to the hobbit's satisfaction) – and facing an irritated Boromir and Gimli, who'd been next in line to wash. Harry apologised profusely, going red in the face because he'd forgotten about the others. After asking Aragorn where he could hang his clothes, and being told there were a couple of boulders near their tree where he could spread them out, Harry did so, then settled down under the tree and watched the rest of the afternoon drift lazily by.

At night, the singing started. Harry had never heard anything so sad and so beautiful in his entire life, except perhaps when Legolas sang. But these were clearly female voices, and much more melancholic, so Harry thought.

Legolas appeared in front of the hollow were the hobbits and Harry were lounging, having just arrived from his jaunt around the city. According to Pippin he'd gone to visit some past acquaintances. Harry had wondered how 'past' these acquaintances were. Probably longer than he'd been alive, Harry had concluded. "A lament for Gandalf," Legolas now explained, staring off into the distance. Perhaps all elves did that?

"What to they say about him?" asked Merry, leaning forward slightly.

Legolas turned to face them, a hint of sadness in his eyes. "I have not the heart to tell you. For me the grief is still too near."

With that short explanation Legolas walked off around the tree again, his expression clearly troubled. Gandalf was not mentioned again for the rest of the conversations the Fellowship had that night, instead, they talked of how they faired in the tree-tops the night before, the uncomfortableness of the blindfolds, and the Lord and Lady. Sam looked distinctly uncomfortable at that last topic.

Pippin, ever the nosy one, smelled something and questioned Sam on it immediately. "And why did you blush when she looked at you Sam?" he said, a little cheekily. "Anyone would have thought you had a guilty conscience. I hope it was nothing worse than a wicked plot to steal one of my blankets."

"I never thought no such thing," said Sam, sounding deeply serious. "If you want to know, I felt as if I hadn't got nothing on, and I didn't like it. She seemed to be looking inside me and asking me what I would do if she gave me the chance of flying back home to the Shire to a nice little hole with – with a bit of garden of my own. It was then I thought I didn't need her help to fly back home if'n I wanted to, I had Harry, if he can fly like he was saying."

Everyone looked between a blushing Harry and an equally red-faced Sam then. (Though they didn't know that Harry, as opposed to Sam, was not blushing in embarrassment but an almost fear/gladness that the elf witch now knew one of his rudimentary skills as a wizard). It was probably this reason – the reason that she could look into everyone's mind and find out information on himself that way – why Harry's meeting with the Lord and Lady had not been as judgmental as it could have been.

"That's funny," said Pippin, getting over his shock at Sam's momentary forcefulness with someone as prestigious and powerful as Galadriel. "Almost, almost exactly what I felt like myself; only, only well, I don't think I'll say anymore," he ended lamely.

As Harry listened to the rest of the Fellowship's explanations on their experiences of being mind read, he noticed there seemed to be a pattern in Galadriel's questioning. Everyone had felt like he was being judged, it seemed. The elf queen would offer them two paths; the path ahead where darkness and fear lay, or the path behind, where they could go home.

Gimli, Boromir, and Frodo were the only one's out of the Fellowship that would not say the specifics of what Galadriel told them, even though Boromir kept pressing for Frodo to do so. "She held you long in her gaze, Ring-bearer," he said.

"Yes," answered Frodo, looking stubborn, "but whatever came into my mind then I will keep there."

"Well have a care!" said Boromir. "I do not feel too sure of this Elvish Lady and her purposes."

Harry was inclined to agree. Aragorn, however, was not. "Speak no evil of the Lady Galadriel," he said sternly. "You know not what you say. There is in her and in this land no evil, unless a man bring it hither himself."

'_We'll just forget about the Ring then, shall we?'_ Harry thought.

Aragorn continued, "But tonight I shall sleep without fear for the first time since I left Rivendell. And may I sleep deep, and forget for a while my grief! I am weary in body and heart."

Then Aragorn slumped down even further on the couch he was sprawled on, and promptly conked out.

"What about you Harry?" asked Merry curiously. "She had a council with you all by yourself? What did she say?" Everyone, including Aragorn, whom, it appeared, was not fast asleep, turned to look in Harry's corner of the tree to await his explanation.

"Er –," said Harry. He couldn't, in truth, tell them what she'd said in his mind because she hadn't said anything at all. "Well she told me I have eyes that rival Elendil's or something," he finally settled on.

The Fellowship, particularly Legolas and Aragorn, seemed puzzled at this. They looked as if they just didn't know what to make of this strange happening.

"Well," said Merry finally, after a minute of embarrassed, awkward silence (where everyone looked at Harry like he'd sprouted arms out of his ears) "I think that wizards are odd," he concluded.

Harry surprised himself by laughing. "That's the most honest and truest statement I've ever heard."

Merry blushed, but looked thankful nonetheless.

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Only a week had passed by since the Fellowship entered Lothlorien city and Harry was forced evaluate what he'd told Haldir earlier on the stairs. Hedwig had still _not_ shown up. Harry had grudgingly concluded that Lothlorien must have magical warding of some sort around it, considering that Galadriel was, in fact, a witch. Harry had to have been stupid to think that mind-reading was her only magical talent. The word 'witch' implied magic user after all. But it frustrated him that he didn't know what magical talents she did have, or what sort of warding resided about the city. He was assured on one thing, though, and that was that Hedwig would _never_ leave him. He imagined she'd just found a nice tree outside the city gates and would find him when he stepped outside of Lothlorien boundaries. In the meantime, he hoped she was perturbing the gate wardens.

In the week that had passed, Harry had also given the elves back their clothes and changed back into his own jeans and shirt. He had also taken to wearing his jumper as it was chilly – for about a day. The stares he kept getting from passing elves, not to mention the Fellowship, told him that muggle clothes just didn't agree with a wizard's hat, so he was forced to leave off the jumper, instead placing his black cape to hang over his shoulders.

Harry had spent the last week going walkabout with Merry and Pippin, sometimes passing Legolas and Gimli on the way. Occasionally, the two groups would conjoin and explore the city together. This was a good idea as Legolas was an elf and was familiar with the elvish language and customs. If they should happen upon any elves who spoke only _Sindarin_ ("The primary elvish language," as Legolas had explained) he would translate any undecipherable sentences, and start up conversations where the hobbits and Harry seemed to be the focal point. The elves in Lothlorien had never seen hobbits, it seemed, and they were even more curious in Harry, who, as the rumours went, was a wizard. Harry had wondered, red-faced, at how the entire city had come to know that about him, and only until a picture of Haldir's smirking face flashed through his mind did he give up wondering.

After breakfast that day, Merry and Pippin each grabbed a hand of Harry's and pulled him up from his regular lounging spot by the tree. The rest of the Fellowship – besides Gimli and Legolas who'd already left on their daily outing – looked on amusedly.

Harry felt it was his right to complain. "Oh come on! We're not going there today. You agreed yesterday that we'd go next week!"

"That was before we knew Legolas was going to be there. He's one of the best archers in Middle Earth you know!" said Pippin, fervently pulling his arm.

"No I didn't," Harry said dully, then groaned because the two hobbits were already tugging him onwards. "Well, so what if he's one of the best? I can see him shoot arrows any old time, why does it have to be now?"

"We'll see him best all those other elves, that's why," answered Merry. The hobbits had gotten him five meters away from the tree now.

Harry tried the stall tactic. "Well, what if he gets beaten? You're just setting yourself up for a disappointment."

At this, Merry, Pippin, and Aragorn all snorted.

"He's not going to loose, Harry, "so onwards we'll go! Why are you so opposed to seeing the archery range?" asked Merry.

Because it was full of arrogant, stuck up elf warriors, who in Harry's mind, were what warden's were, and Harry had never liked _them_. Instead, all he said was, "How 'bout some second breakfast?"

The entire remaining Fellowship chuckled at that.

Pippin, however, shook his head. "It's too early for second breakfast," he said, and Harry gaped in surprise.

"Er, I'll offer you some food from my pouch?" He was grasping at straws now.

"We will all go," Aragorn suggested, after observing Pippin become interested in Harry's offer. Harry glared at him. "Twill be refreshing to see a competition of archery again. I have not witnessed one since before I toured the lands as a Ranger."

Harry didn't bother to ask what a Ranger was, but assumed it was someone who didn't have a lot of free time on their hands.

So Harry was forced to go to the archery range because the rest of the Company were going too.

It took them half an hour to find it. Amidst the gigantic trees – that all looked alike – and the passing elves – whom all looked alike – they lost their way a couple of times, until they realised that the passing elves were more than likely walking to the archery range for the competition anyway, and followed _them_. Also, having the elvish translated by Aragorn – who told them the elves were going to the archery range – helped a lot.

When they arrived at the glade they discovered that the competition was already underway, with ten candidates admitted to the semi-finals. Legolas, predictably, was one of them.

An assortment of male and female elves was gathered behind and to the sides of the remaining archers. The Company walked to where Gimli was standing along the side. He'd placed an intimidating hand on the butt of his axe, and his stance resembled that of a bee protecting its hive.

He relaxed his hand when he saw that the Fellowship had surrounded him.

"You've come just in time, too," he said in his gruff voice. "The lad is about to shoot."

The 'lad' looking serene and not in the least perturbed at the surrounding spectators, lifted his bow, took aim, and released. This all happened in the space of a split second. Everyone in the clearing watched as the arrow sailed, and sailed, and sailed – the target really was exceptionally far away – until it hit what Harry assumed was the bull's eye, if the cheering and clapping of the elves, and Legolas's nod of acknowledgment gave any indication. He wondered, now, how Legolas could have seen the target from where he was standing. It was simply impossible! Unless, like walking on a tightrope without any reflection whatsoever, elves had better eyesight too, which wouldn't surprise Harry. But it did make him think on why this was so. Why was there an apparently perfect race? (If he discounted all Malfoy tendencies). Or maybe he should have thought, instead, why there was a race that displayed such perfect _physical_ attributes while the _metaphysical_ left much to be desired.

'_But that isn't fair,'_ said a small voice that sounded a lot like Hermione. _'Legolas is alright and Galadriel seemed nice, if a bit intrusive. Honestly, you can't judge an entire race after only meeting a couple.'_

Then Hagrid's words from fourth year came to the fore front._ "Yer get weirdo's in every bunch!" _

Harry decided to agree with the voices.

"Let's move closer to the target," suggested Frodo. "I should like to see what they're actually aiming at."

Everyone agreed, and they shuffled along until they almost reached the other side of the field. The target, they found, was a bunch of compressed circles painted in a spiral on a flat board and nailed to a tree, with the largest as big as a plate and the smallest the size of a thimble. Legolas's arrow protruded directly from the thimble-sized circle.

Aragorn, noticing Harry's gaping expression, chuckled. "Tis an elvish archery contest, Harry. No man would win, should he enter."

"I can see that."

Then the rest of the elves had their go, too, only one of them just brushing the barrier of the smallest circle. After that, it was time for the finals, with only three contenders left.

An elf that was in charge of the target moved it a few meters further back. The Fellowship moved with it.

The first elf took aim and fired, his arrow landing directly in the middle of the target. There was much cheering from the surrounding elves at this. The second elf was Legolas, who didn't need nearly as much time to aim as the first elf had, and his arrow splintered the first elf's arrow as it landed. This produced even more cheering and clapping. The last elf, however, was another story. Harry wouldn't have been interested in him at all, besides the fact that he could win the competition if he beat Legolas. Harry didn't think he was at all special, or that he would have anything to do with Harry at all. But as it turned out, it was this elf that would force Harry to uncover all his secrets. And this is how it happened.

It took a lot to make an elf drunk, (half a barrel of mulled mead to be precise) and when the once-in-an-elvish-lifetime-event occurred, it was very unfortunate on the poor elf. Narien, currently being the third contender in the finals of an informal elvish archery competition, was drunk. Since early that morning in fact. The where and why is irrelevant as is how he managed to make it all the way to the finals – luck was involved, or pure coincidence, but suffice to say, that luck has all but deserted him now, and he wouldn't even be able to hit the side of an _Oliphant_ if it stood but three feet away. Drunk elves and archery competitions shouldn't mix, really, as Harry was about to find out.

Narien now loaded his bow. He took extra care in doing so, though nobody in the vicinity seemed to think anything was amiss. Even if elves got drunk, they hardly looked it, after all. Narien now took aim. This, however, produced some murmurs throughout the assorted hangers-on because the elf seemed to have aimed at an angle slightly away from the target, and the audience knew, because they had that excellent sight of their's. The elf in question, however, seemed unconcerned, so his audience assumed he knew what he was doing. But that opinion was quickly changed when Narien let loose the arrow without changing angles. This caused considerable surprise and shocked exclamations, but not nearly as shocked and surprised at what Harry and the Fellowship will be when the arrow reached the other end.

The Company knew that the last elf had taken aim, but they hadn't seen when he'd fired the arrow, so when the missile suddenly appeared in Harry's hat, whipping it from his head and continuing to travel onwards – with the hat still dangling on the stem, and imbedding itself in a nearby tree – they were quite surprised. But none more so than Harry. He had only felt a momentary relief at not being shot, and that relief had quickly turned to terror when he'd realised that his hat was no longer on his head, as it was supposed to be.

"He did that on bloody purpose!" was all Harry could say, before sprinting towards his pinned hat, ripping the arrow out of the tree, and stuffing the hat on his head. He could only hope that Galadriel hadn't tried to pry in those couple of minutes he'd been without his hat.

On the other end of the field, Narien promptly passed out.

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"A couple inches lower and you would have been –!"

"I _know_ Pippin," said Harry, for what felt the thousandth time.

"Alright, no need to get snarly!"

"I'm not getting _snarly_, it's just, _how_ could this have happened? I thought elves were supposed to be experts at shooting arrows!"

The Fellowship, including Legolas and Gimli, had returned to their tree to discuss the morning's events, (after Legolas went through all of the congratulations first, of course, and that alone took about half an hour. This was also where Harry discovered that Legolas must be royalty because the elves who were offering their compliments seemed to be permanently channelling jack-in-the-boxes', and having a propensity to say "Your highness," after every sentence. So Aragorn translated). Harry knew he shouldn't be so grumpy, especially at Pippin, but he felt on edge from what had happened. Not the part where he'd almost been dead, but the part where Galadriel might have taken the opportunity to poke around, and now he kept expecting her to pop up and invite for him a chat.

Legolas leaned forward, looking conspiratorially serious. The Fellowship leaned in closer in order to hear better. "Laer told me that Narien, the elf who shot Harry's hat, was drunk."

"What!" Harry squawked.

"Tis true," Legolas continued, seeming to enjoy the Fellowship's stunned reactions. "Last night there was merrymaking in the woods, a little further away from the city, but still within its boundaries. There was much pleasure and drink to be had. It appears that Narien had too much."

"What's merrymaking?" asked Harry.

Incredibly, Aragorn and Legolas both looked uncomfortable at this, exchanging glances and fidgeting slightly where they sat.

"Tis an elvish pastime," Legolas finally said, trying to avoid Harry's gaze.

"Yeah, so, how did he make it so far into the competition if he was drunk?"

Legolas lifted one shoulder in an elegant shrug. "I know not."

"So it's just one of those things?" Harry said.

"What things do you speak of?" Legolas looked puzzled.

"I mean, _one of those things_, you know, you can't explain it, it just sort of happens, like lightening striking in the same place twice, or something."

"Ah, I see now," said Legolas, inclining his head. "You have a very strange dialect Harry."

For some reason Harry blushed at this, especially when he saw that everyone seemed to agree.

"Everyone talks like this where I come from," he muttered in his defence.

"It must be very interesting where you come from," said Boromir.

Harry nodded. Though privately he was thinking that this was Boromir's polite way of saying he was loony. "It is," Harry told them. "You won't believe some of the stuff – er . . ." he trailed off because suddenly everyone seemed very interested. "– well, it's just a lot different from Middle Earth."

After saying that, Harry wondered why he was so defensive at keeping everything to himself. No harm would come if he told them about muggle things, or just things in general that could be found in the wizarding world, surely?

"How different?" asked Pippin.

"Well, let's see," said Harry, warming up to the idea, and crossing his legs. "First of all you have to know that there are two main communities that exist in my world. We call them the Wizarding World and the Muggle World. The Wizarding World is just full of magic users and magical creatures, and things like that, whereas the Muggle World is just full of what you call the Race of Men here. Nobody in the Muggle World knows about wizards or any magical creatures, they're kept in ignorance."

This caused exceptional surprise with his companions.

"Why is this so?" asked Boromir, sounding a tad defensive.

"Because they'd want a magic solution to all their problems," explained Harry, remembering what Hagrid had told him. "I don't doubt that the Muggle World and the Wizarding World co-existed thousands of years back, but now we don't. Considering that, we have evolved differently. The Wizarding World uses magic for simply everything; they literally cannot exist without it. Our entire system would collapse if we were deprived of our magic. But the Muggle World has created technology to help them live their daily lives, and unlike wizards, they could probably survive without technology."

At the bewildered expressions he was getting, Harry assumed they didn't know what technology was.

"An example of technology would be, er, computers. They look like a box, at least some do, and you can write on it, and talk to people on the other side of the world . . ."

They weren't believing it.

"It sounds like sorcery!" said Gimli.

"I suppose you'd think it was, if you've never seen it before."

"What other things can be found in the muggle world?" asked Pippin.

"Buildings."

"Buildings?" said the hobbits together.

"What's special about buildings?" asked Merry.

"Muggle buildings can be as tall as a mountain."

"As tall as mountains? I'd like to see that," said Sam. "What else is there, Mr Harry?"

"Well, there are airplanes, which are like giant metal birds that travel around the world and can carry up to two hundred people –" Harry ignored the stunned expressions. "Then there are cars, a sort of horseless carriage that's really fast. Um, oh, they've got these weapons that can destroy entire countries with the push of a button. They're called nuclear bombs."

There was a lot of sputtering at this. "Entire countries? Sauron would rejoice should he know of such a weapon!" cried Aragorn.

"Yeah, well lucky he doesn't."

"What about the wizarding world? Tell us about the creatures there. We already know you don't have hobbits, but you do have elves," said Pippin.

Harry wished Pippin hadn't said anything because Legolas sat up at his words.

"There is an Elven race in your world?" he asked. "Why did you not mention this before?"

"Oh they're not like you, Legolas," said Pippin, before Harry could open his mouth. "They're like hobbits, aren't they Harry?"

Harry suddenly became the focus of everyone's attention. "Er, they're not _exactly_ like hobbits, only the height is similar," he said, dully. Everyone seemed to be waiting for him to continue. "Alright then, um, they'relittleandgreenwithpointyearsandlivetoservewizards," he said. "Now, who wants to know about, er, giants?"

There was laughter. "No one heard anything, Harry," said Merry. "You ran your words together."

"Yeah, I meant to," Harry mumbled. Too late, he forgot Legolas could hear. Harry watched him now, frowning in puzzlement. "Fine then, but don't be offended when you hear what elves are like."

Everyone seemed even more interested at this, and they leaned in closer. Harry took a deep breath. "The official name for elves in the Wizarding World is House Elves, and they're called house elves because they live in a wizarding house hold. They're main purpose is to basically act like a slave and do whatever the wizard tells them to do and they're little and green with big pointy ears and talk with squeaky voices and bad grammar. And their names are generally something like Winky or Dobby, if they're good, and Kreacher if their bad so who wants to know about giants?"

Silence greeted him.

"Slaves?" Legolas finally said.

Harry cringed. "Yes. But, one of my friends, she's trying to set them free. You can release a house elf from servitude if you give them clothes . . ." This produced even more bewildered looks. "But you have to know that they _love_ being slaves, it's sort of in their nature. They'd be miserable if you set them free. But my friend just doesn't seem to get that."

More silence.

Harry took another breath. "Look, elves in my world are _nothing_ likes elves in Middle Earth. They only share a common name. That's it!"

Legoals nodded, slowly. "I see."

Harry let his eyes flit to each member of the Fellowship. Aragorn, Frodo, and Sam looked melancholy – a lot like Legolas – Boromir, Merry, and Gimli seemed contemplative, and Pippin who was munching on a piece of cheese, didn't appear to be bothered by what Harry had revealed, and surprisingly, seemed to be the only one who looked understanding of Harry's explanation.

"So . . ." Harry began, drawing everyone's attention. "Who wants to know about giants?"

Pippin thankfully came to the rescue, breaking up the awkwardness. "What are giants?"

Harry jumped straight into the description. "They're like trolls except way bigger, about twenty five feet, and they go around fighting with each other and killing people when they can help it."

Pippin stopped munching. Frodo shuddered. Sam looked on in horror.

"I should not like to meet a giant, then," said Merry, taking the remaining bit of cheese out of Pippin's slack grasp and stuffing it in his mouth.

Everyone offered mumblings of agreement.

"They're alright, really," Harry told them. "My friend Hagrid is half-giant. His mother was one, and he's got a giant brother named Grawp!" Harry ignored the looks of shock and puzzlement, and continued. "But giants are nothing compared to some of the creatures we have. We have dragons –!"

"Dragons!" everyone cried.

Harry was momentarily taken aback at the passion in their voices. He had thought he would have to explain what dragons were, but evidently Middle Earth had a supply in store.

"Yeah," Harry said. "They're all different breeds too –"

"Harry Potter?" came a voice behind Harry's back. Harry turned his head. An elf wearing slivery floor length robes was standing behind him, looking down with a single raised eyebrow.

Harry scrambled to his feet, feeling more than a little defensive. "Yes?"

"You are to accompany me to the Lady Galadriel. She would like a word."

Harry forced his throat not to gulp. "Now?"

The elf inclined his head, as if puzzled by Harry's query. "Yes. Now."

Harry finally forced down that gulp.

It looked like Galadriel _had_ managed to see something.

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A/N: If you're wondering why Haldir wasn't in the archery competition, he'd gone back to the outskirts after accompanying the Fellowship to Lothlorien.

Also, if you're wondering, there _is_ a sort of magical warding around Lothlorien, it has everything to do with Nenya. You'll find out more in the next chapter.

I do not know where I got the name _Narien_. It just popped into my head. But, I have a feeling I read it somewhere before, either from the books themselves, or from some other fan fiction.

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**And to answer the questions I got in reviews: **

**Q1. What ship (is that how I'm supposed say it?) am I into?**

**Ans: **I am not really into any particular one. I don't really like reading romance fan fiction because it tends to become very repetitive after a while. Though, if it's well written I do make exceptions. However, I have to say that I like Ron/Hermione getting together because it's already verified in the books. Anything else is just guesswork. But, strangely enough, I don't like to read Ron/Hermione fan fictions because I don't like messing with that relationship. I want to see what J.K. writes about it first. Saying that, I have to say I don't like Harry/Hermione because I just don't believe it'll ever happen. Sorry! To me, they're like siblings and I just cringe when I come across Harry/Hermione fictions. (And I'm not bagging those who do like them, everyone's entitled to their own opinion.)

As to what ship this story will be? As you guessed it will be zilch, nadda, zip. There will be no romantic relationships in this story above the usual Aragorn and Eowyn stuff that Harry observes. And possibly he might witness the Aragorn/Arwen relationship if he stays that long, or if Aragorn talks to him about it (which is doubtful) or if he notices Eowyn asking Aragorn about the jewel, etc.

**Q2. Why did I have to make Legolas so snobby?**

**Ans: **Did I really? If I gave that impression I'm sorry, but you also have to remember that Harry doesn't know Legolas all that well, and will judge him based on what he sees, and what he is reminded of. And I kind of thought I made Legolas pretty mild compared to the Lothlorien elves. But, you are a fan of Legolas as you said, so I guess you're more biased than people who are trying to be neutral, such as myself.

Sorry if I offended anyone, and if you think I'm wrong, feel free to review. I like it when I get questions like this because that means some people didn't understand something, and I get to explain it. It helps with my writing. (Only don't over do it, I have my pride after all. Ha ha!)

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Thanks for all the reviews! I would now like some more please.


	8. Realisations

Disclaimer: _Harry Potter_ remains the property of J.K. Rowling and any other publishers or organisations which I don't know, but don't want to anger. _The Lord of the Rings_ belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien. I am not making any profit whatsoever in writing this story. I write it purely for the sake of my own and others enjoyment.

A/N: IMPORTANT! SPOILER ALERT! I have a very very small mention of something alluding to HBP in this chapter. Most of you, even those who've read the book, might not recognise it, and in fact it is a very obscure reference, and something other people have mentioned in other fanfics even before HBP came out. It was a speculation then, now since book 6 came out, it's a truth. So, if you haven't read HBP, well, enter at you own risk, as they say.

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**Chapter Eight: Realisations. **

Soft, dappled sunlight gleamed from the treetops a mile high, twisting, turning, and sometimes overlooking its chosen path to bounce off a stray branch or leaf, eventually finding itself on the forest floor. Sometimes a fat tree branch would catch an obscure ray, preventing it from ever reaching the ground. The aforementioned branch would then light up in a gossamer of sliver, so that it appeared as if it were shimmering. This, then, would result in the entire tree flaring in the ethereal image, like a ghostly spectre out on the moors. Every tree in Lothlorien had that effect. Every. Single. Tree. All this rather reminded Harry of fairy magic. It was funny what simple things people notice when they try to get their minds off unpleasant situations. At least now Harry knew how elves achieved the 'glowing' effect on almost all inanimate objects – besides themselves.

It was a pity Harry's mood didn't feel as welcoming or peaceful as his surrounding environment.

He was not stupid by any means, but nor was he as smart as Hermione. He would be the second to admit that he could be a bit thick at times (Hermione coming in first, and Ron, ever the loyal best friend, last) but even he was surprised at how stupid he'd been this time around; and it shocked him to the bone, because, when fighting for survival and acceptance, Harry usually and instinctively payed attention to the smaller matters around him; smaller matters might soon turn into bigger matters later on, as he had found out the hard way.

He'd called himself thousands of different fool for not remembering to use the sticking charm on his hat.

He'd also asked himself why this had happened. Why he kept forgetting the little things, the little spells that make a wizard's life just that much easier. Harry thought about it, and realised he'd forgotten to use magic in other situations as well, where it could have benefited. Like his Firebolt; he could have thought to use that to fly down to Gandalf when he'd fallen into that pit, at least to bring his body back to the Fellowship for a proper burial. He could have used the disillusionment charm or his invisibility cloak to cover himself, his broom, and Gandalf as he flew back out of the pit, so the orcs wouldn't see. He could have used his Firebolt for a different matter entirely. He could have taken Frodo up on it and flew them away to Mt Doom where the hobbit could've chucked the ring into the lava . . . _there, the danger is over and we can all go home._ It would have only taken a couple of hours.

_No, that wouldn't have worked, _Harry told himself._ You have a mission, remember, and helping Frodo might not be it._ But despite that, Harry knew there were instances that he wouldn't have even thought to use magic if it weren't for outside interference. When Aragorn and Frodo had been stuck on the other side of the crumbling road in the Mines of Moria, it had been Legolas who'd shouted for Harry to use a spell; it had been _he_ who had reminded Harry he was a wizard – a fact Harry had temporarily forgotten. The first time Harry bathed in Lothlorien, bitter and annoyed because he couldn't wash his hair since because of his hat, he was helped by Pippin who had briefly mentioned a simple wish for bodily comfort; only then did Harry remember the drying charm.

And he knew why all this occurred. Why he had simply appeared to have forgotten most fundamental spells and ideas; it was his reluctance to show magic in front of the Fellowship and the elves that had done it. His fear of being ostracised as he had been all last year by his fellow classmates; people he had called friends. It was his fear of a new world. His fear that his new friends would hate him because he was different. All this mingled together to produce a slightly thicker Harry than the one who'd first entered this world. And he hated himself for it.

And now, because of all this, Galadriel knew he was hiding something, and would question him on it. It was the worst sort of luck.

Now, as Harry trudged up the staircase to the home of the king and queen of Lothlorien, the regal looking messenger elf gliding in front of him, he told himself to think positively. After all, what could Galadriel have seen in the minute his hat was pinned to the tree? She might not have even been scrying; her attention might have been elsewhere. In fact, could Harry be sure she was summoning him for that very reason? The last time they'd spoken, she had told the king that "we have badgered him enough as it is." That surely implied she wished to talk more to him, but had abstained because he was exhausted with tiredness and grief. It might mean that she wanted to speak to him now about whatever she couldn't before. That was it!

Harry had almost convinced himself of that theory as he reached the end of his trek up the staircase, until he spotted the heads of the rulers of Lothlorien sitting in two pearl-coloured thrones that appeared nearly as bright as they were. The revelation that their imminent presence was perhaps more alarming due to this fact forced him to stumble stupidly over the last step, so that he ended up almost facedown at the regal feet of the messenger elf. The elf in question looked down on him with eyebrow raised, before turning to the king and queen and formally introducing him, then walking back down the stairs.

Harry was, by now, scarlet.

He gingerly picked himself up in case there were any injuries he was unaware of. Satisfied for the moment that his health was still top notch, Harry walked the last few meters until he stood directly in front of the king and queen. Remembering what the messenger elf had done he bowed and straightened, trying, without success, to avoid their weighty gazes.

"You, er, summoned me?" Harry said, not being able to take the penetrating silence anymore.

There was a long pause before the queen answered. "It does me well to see you, Harry Potter," she began, gesturing for him sit on one of the many chairs on the chamber-like platform. Harry didn't know what to make of this statement, but he sat down anyway on the chair almost directly adjacent to the queen's, so that he ended up facing sideways while looking at her.

"A-and you as well." Harry tried.

Galadriel smiled slightly. Or she might not have been smiling at all; it was difficult to tell what that expressionless face might reveal. Somehow, Harry felt like she was though, and this feeling calmed him down slightly, so that he stopped scratching the back of his hand.

"You have inkling as to why I have requested to see you?"

Harry wasn't sure if that was a question or not, but he answered like it was. "Sort of?"

That almost smile again.

He tried once more. "Er . . . you saw into my mind and discovered things . . ."

"That would be nearly correct Harry Potter," she said, nodding elegantly. "You're hat revealed a great many things, yet concealed none. I was beginning to wonder when you would deem to speak with me. Did it not occur to you that it might be my duty to inform you of the path you must walk whilst you reside in Middle Earth?"

"Huh?" said Harry after a pause. The implications of that little speech had his mind in a jumble. If she'd just said what Harry thought she'd just said . . . He cleared his throat uncertainly. "Excuse me . . . Your Majesty . . . but, I mean, are you trying to say that, well, you actually penetrated the defensive barriers that were around my hat? I mean, before the Sorting Hat left it told me no one and nothing would be able to access my thoughts . . . and, well, you're kind of saying you _did_ . . . and I don't really understand," he finished lamely.

The king made a noise then. It was a sort of half snort half cough that barely lasted half a second. Harry marvelled that elves could make a sound that was usually so raw and crude seem as commonplace as breathing.

The queen said simply, "Yes."

"Right," said Harry after a long silence, when everything he'd heard so far since arriving on the platform sank in. "Right, so that means that," he scratched the back of his head, "that you knew all along then? You could've gone into my mind and broken through the barrier at anytime . . ." the queen smiled fully this time, ". . . and of course you knew, this is your world after all and I'm a stupid idiot for believing the word of a hat."

"I am not an intrusive elf," was all the queen said to that.

Harry felt deeply embarrassed as he suddenly realised that despite refraining from using magic in Middle Earth, in a twist of irony, he was still dependant on it in some ways, and willing to believe whatever a hat thought was the truth. What would a hat know about Middle Earth magic, after all? What would Dumbledore? He'd never been to Middle Earth. How and why would they know that their brand of magic was stronger than Gandalf's, or Galadriel's? Didn't his experience with anything magical in Middle Earth – such as the holly trees and Gandalf – teach him that his magic reacted wrongly when exposed to them . . . ?

No, that wasn't right—his magic hadn't even worked at _all_! What had made him think it would in this instance? The Hat had, that's what! And all because it was something familiar from his world that had momentarily taken away the feeling of aloneness in an unknown land.

Harry should have realised this sooner. He didn't need to hide behind a hat. Besides, the Sorting Hat had only observed Gandalf's magic through Harry's own memories, it didn't have any firsthand experience. He was such a fool! It was only through Galadriel's grace that she hadn't read his mind, not Dumbledore's or the Hat's so called "gift."

Harry finally recognised that Galadriel had only waited for an opportunity when he would temporarily take off the hat so she could tell him that without plundering his head. She was only being kind. She was only respecting his privacy. He was such as idiot; as was the Sorting Hat, and yes, even Dumbledore. Dumbledore, who was universes away and had absolutely no clue as to how magic in Middle Earth worked. . . Yes, Harry was thick to believe that, or at least thick enough not to think it over and go through it logically. If Hermione were here she would have done that sooner and saved Harry some unpleasantness.

Of course Harry realised that Dumbledore had only wanted to help him, and that, perhaps, his hat would offer _some_ protection from the lure of the Ring, but it wouldn't completely shield him, it just wasn't strong enough. Then again, what with the way his magic responded to unfamiliar magical objects in Middle Earth, he had to revaluate his thought. Perhaps his hat wouldn't protect him from the Ring at all?

"Mayhap," said the queen.

Harry's responding grin was sort of wobbly. He'd just gotten the proof, hadn't he? Galadriel had managed to access his thoughts while he was still wearing his hat.

"Perhaps you should remove it?" the queen suggested, and Harry agreed, plucking the hat off his head and holding it folded in his lap. Immediately, he felt a cool breeze ruffle his hair. He nearly sighed in relief at the freshness of such a natural occurrence. Without the stuffy, sweaty barrier of the hat to stop it, his head could finally breathe.

The king spoke, eyes icy blue, "What should we do with him now, Galadriel?" Harry tensed, forgetting the pleasant breeze. "He has been lying to the leaders of the high elves; a crime worthy of the punishment of treason."

"No I haven't!" cried Harry, partly to soothe the situation, partly to explain, partly in terror, and partly in anger at the accusation, which wasn't true. "I haven't been lying. I've been . . . withholding the truth."

"Indeed," the king drawled, sliding out of his chair and coming to stand over Harry, who couldn't help but lean back slightly at the elf's compelling presence. "It matters not whether you told lies outright, or concealed the truth; it all unravels to the same ending: Do we trust you now? These are black times, and an unknown entity that deems fit to abstain knowledge from the rulers of this land is not to be trusted."

Harry bit back the first retort that settled on his tongue, which went something along the lines of a sarcastic "hahahaha!" because the king seemed to have grown even more demanding in that moment. Instead he settled with using logic, something Hermione would be proud of. "You can trust me," he explained slowly, almost, but not quite speaking like he would to a child, "because the queen can see into my mind and judge me." He looked the king straight in the eye, although not without one of his own twitching in nervousness. "I've no doubt she's been doing that. If she tells you I'm evil and corrupt I'll fly away. But just so you know, I have a mission to complete, and she's the only one who can help me."

The elven king stared at Harry for a piercingly long time, (where the Wizarding World's saviour discreetly fiddled with the wand in his robe pocket), until finally he said, "Well spoken, Harry Potter!"

"W-what?" said Harry, now completely confused. He had expected, well, something other than appreciation that was certain.

The king threw him a bemused look. "I have encountered none like you before." He told Harry, walking back at a leisurely place and lowering himself back on his throne. "So bold. So passionate in your youth. You dismiss the laws of courtesy that deem you should show respect to those older than you and those with power over you, as if you were dismissing a lone ant that happened upon your path." He waved an elegant hand at Harry. "You resemble an elf in that regard. We hold nature and the natural instincts of a person in more esteem than common rules, even if, and especially when, you might think otherwise." The king's narrowing gaze was so penetrating then, that Harry momentarily thought he'd channelled Galadriel.

Realising what the king was saying, he became uncomfortable. It was true he had previously thought most elves were snobby.

"I'm sorry for withholding information," was what Harry told him, looking momentarily down at his shoes. The king inclined his head, which suggested he'd accepted Harry's apology. "And . . . I'll be honoured if you help me, er, My Lady," Harry continued, turning to address the queen. Galadriel offered Harry the same gesture the king had given a few seconds before.

Harry let out a small sigh of relief as the tenseness in his neck – the one he hadn't acknowledged until now – dispersed.

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"So . . ." said Harry, dwelling on the _O_. "I . . . I have to look into the mirror?" His tone was slightly bewildered, suggesting that he might not have bought what Galadriel was trying to sell.

"Indeed," she said now, gesturing once again to the large basin. "Have I not said so?" she added not unkindly, as Harry went pink. He nodded quickly to dispel his embarrassment and let his eyes rove around the clearing.

They stood, just the two of them, in the middle of a sort of large, grassy hole. The boundaries of which were made out of hill and a single wooden staircase that stretched a short distance from the top of the knoll to the bottom. On the other side was a tiny waterfall that trickled into a small pond, encased with rock. In the middle of all this was a large basin which sat on top of a pedestal. Harry now stood in front of the basin, while Galadriel observed from behind. She had already poured some water from the pond into the basin, and had told Harry he should expect to see some images from his past, present, and future. Harry didn't so much care about his past and present – he'd already experienced one and was currently living the other. It was the future he was more interested in, as that would help him discover his mission. Or, so Galadriel believed.

Either way he hoped she was right as he had been getting quite irritated at not having a purpose besides being irritated all the time.

He took a deep breath, glanced once up at Galadriel – she offered an encouraging nod – then leaned over the basin.

At first, there was nothing there but his own reflection staring up at him with a slight dotty look, which he hastily amended to resemble a more serious countenance. Briefly, he noticed his hair had gotten a bit longer and curlier at the ends. _When on earth had that ever happened?_ He'd never had cause to cut his hair before, because, well, it had never grown before! He had always suspected it was his magic that had stopped his hair from growing because he _couldn't_ be bothered cutting it; he'd had no desire to. But now . . . he supposed Middle Earth was tampering with his magic again. He should not have been surprised, really.

_Shimmer_.

Harry blinked. He had almost missed it. The mirror had . . . shimmered? It shimmered again, the water seeming to ripple in a tremble of silver. An image appeared. A tall, long-nosed red-haired boy. _Ron!_ He was playing chess at the Burrow with . . . _Hermione?_

_Was he, in fact, looking at the present? _

Another image shivered into existence. This one was of Fred and George dolling out sweets in front of a shop in Diagon Alley. Another one came rapidly, of Ginny Weasley lying on her front in bed and scribbling on a piece of parchment. More images appeared then, one after the other. Sirius falling through the veil at the Department of Mysteries, Gandalf falling into the dark abyss of Moria, Hedwig attacking Orophin, Boromir speaking with Aragorn . . . The image focussed on Boromir for a while, before –

Harry jumped back in horror, stumbling over the couple of steps that led up to the basin!

He dared not look into the mirror again.

This action was not, however, enough to dispel the terrifying image from his thoughts. It had been Boromir. Boromir lying with mouth open, eyes closed, clutching a sword to his chest, and quite clearly _dead_! Considering that he had spoken to Boromir not even an hour ago, this image had obviously showed the future.

"W-what?" he stuttered. He still did not understand what it was all about. He looked up at Galadriel. She was staring at him with an understanding that Harry knew, no matter how many years he might live, he would never be able to express. "W-why?" he stumbled over his wording again. "Why did the mirror show me that, that stuff?" He did not quite manage to keep the tremor out of his voice.

"Is it not obvious, Harry Potter?" Galadriel spoke in a low, husky tone that did not sound in the least patronising. "The Son of the Steward of Gondor . . . he is the reason you have been brought to this world. He is your task."

"What?" That was absurd. A person couldn't be a task!

'_Why ever not?'_ Harry started as Galadriel's voice suddenly came from inside his head. "It will be your duty to protect him from now on," she continued, this time aloud. "The mirror does not lie."

"So after I save him, what then?" Harry said, not sure whether he was asking her directly, or saying something simply to override the panic he was feeling. Surely he couldn't be responsible for someone's life like that?

Galadriel walked ever so beautifully over toward him, so that they were barely a foot apart. He stared into her deep blue eyes, not knowing that his own conveyed the utter hopelessness he was feeling. Her eyes softened slightly at the look. "I believe henceforth, if you manage to save him, you will be released from your task and be free to go back to your own world."

Harry hesitated before he asked. "And if I don't save him?"

She stared long at him. "I think, perhaps, it would be best if I explain a few things about Boromir. Come, sit with me."

Harry trailed after her as she went to sit on a knotty, though polished looking piece of tree that resided against the wall of the clearing. It was clearly a medieval version of a park bench, but surprisingly comfortable.

She looked him in the eye again, and began . . .

They talked for at least half an hour. Galadriel told him all she could about Boromir, and his current situation. Harry learned things he hadn't bothered to pick up on before, or just didn't care to notice. Boromir, Son of Denethor had an honourable nature and was currently the scion to the Stewardship of Gondor (it was here Harry learned that Aragorn, shockingly, was heir to the throne of said country. He'd mentally told himself not to act any differently toward the Ranger, as Galadriel said he expected no special recognition.)

Boromir, therefore, had responsibilities, duties, that other men didn't have. Gondor would fall if Sauron triumphed, in fact Gondor would likely fall before that. Boromir, for that reason, shouldered a heavy burden on his shoulders. He felt responsible for his City, responsible to find all the aid that he could get for his City.

Enter the Ring.

Harry was astonished, and not a little dismayed to discover that the Ring was getting to Boromir. Had, in fact, almost consumed him completely, and that it would not be long before he tried to steal it off of Frodo. Harry must therefore always stay by Boromir's side, helping him, perhaps giving him subtle advice, and above all – making sure he didn't die!

Harry had dutifully promised all this to Galadriel, not just because it would get him home if he saved Boromir's life, but also for the simple fact that Harry knew Boromir. He was one of the Fellowship, and seemed an alright bloke. Plus the fact that Harry's Gryffindor ideals couldn't let him abandon someone to die, especially someone he had travelled in the wilderness with, fought Dark Creatures with, and, occasionally, had to relieve himself in front of. If Harry could get passed that embarrassing barrier, as he had with most of the Fellowship, than that person was worthy of saving, as far as he was concerned.

After his talk with Galadriel, Harry made his way back to the Fellowship and the hollow in their comfortable tree. He'd had to abandon them in mid-speak, and was now looking forward on continuing the discussion about dragons. He had already promised himself to tell them about his experience with the Hungarian Horntail.

Harry would not hold anything back now. Not his knowledge from another world, or his magic. They had seen him use it before, he had known them for a little over two weeks now, and in that time he had seen the kind of people they were and they had seen the kind of person he was. They oughtn't to be scared of his magic. In fact, Harry was positive they weren't now, especially after his talk with Galadriel and Celeborn.

And if they showed some discomfort by his everyday, seemingly never-ending supply of magic, he would continue to use it until they were comfortable. Never for anything stupid and unnecessary, of course. Just when he needed to. Like he did at Hogwarts.

Harry spotted the Fellowship now, lounging under their tree, having lunch. Some elves must have brought it over while he was with Galadriel.

Pippin noticed him first and waved him over. "We've saved some for you Harry. And look, they've finally brought us wine!"

Harry grinned as walked up the short slope that rested just before the picnic spread-out, and then plonked down next to Pippin, helping himself to some stew. "No thanks," he told the hobbit, who'd went to pore some of the red liquid into Harry's goblet. "I'm not old enough to drink yet."

Everyone seemed to think this was terribly funny. Poor Merry even choked on his own pipe smoke.

"What?" Harry asked, managing to express bafflement, bemusement, and annoyance all at once. He had just gotten the feeling that he was the butt of some private joke, and the fact that he had no clue as to what it was added to his nervousness.

"Not old enough, Harry?" said Pippin, amongst heavy chortling, (so that some wine flew up his nose) he rubbed it a bit before continuing. "There's no need to be modest now, is there? We know the ways of wizards."

"Huh?" was the sound that came out of Harry's mouth. Though, that could have been because he'd just spooned in a mouthful of stew and could not do much else with his tongue, let alone talk.

"There's no need to be bashful Harry," said Frodo, looking at Harry with smiling eyes. Harry was taken aback by that, as well as the mischief in his smile, all of which still didn't help him uncover what in Merlin was going on.

Merry continued, "Gandalf told Aragorn before he fell Harry. You don't have to pretend to keep us comfortable. We don't mind. Go on, have some wine!"

Harry concluded that this particular hobbit must be stark raving bonkers.

"Umm . . . what exactly did Gandalf tell you?" queried Harry after swallowing his first bit of stew.

"Well," said Pippin slowly, lighting up a newly produced pipe, and giving it a few experimental puffs. "We know all the immortal races are older than they appear to be. Just look at Legolas over there."

Harry proceeded to choke on the second bite of stew he had put in his mouth. He was helped to swallow by Sam, who pounded on his back with both fists. Harry discovered then that hobbits were quite strong, and could be known to bruise on occasion.

"I'm fine Sam, but, er, thanks anyway," Harry rasped out. "Er, Pippin, would you mind telling me why you think I'm immortal? I'm not an elf."

"But you are a wizard," Aragorn insisted.

"Wizards are immortal," added Legolas, but he had cocked his head and was scrutinising Harry, "at least in Middle Earth. You mean to tell us you're not?"

"Yeah," said Harry simply. "I mean, we live longer than ordinary people because of the magic in our blood, probably about three-hundred years," Harry added, thinking back to the veritably _ancient_ wizard examiners that came to test the fifth years on their OWLS. They had spoken of having done the same to Dumbledore, and if Dumbledore, as Harry knew, was one hundred and fifty years old, then the examiners must be at least twice that. "But I'm not immortal, and I don't know why Gandalf thought so." Harry told them, then took another bite of his stew once he was sure it was safe to do so.

No one said anything to that for a long while until Aragorn finally spoke. "How is it you have such powerful magic, and be so young? How can a mortal body sustain so much power?"

Harry didn't know the answer to that and for the millionth time wished Hermione was with him because he was sure she would have started rattling off a complicated theory on physical limitations or wizarding genealogy and such; but she wasn't here, so Harry made do. "I suppose it has to do with our innate magical core. Every wizard is born with one, and it only grows stronger as we age; because the magical core is a natural part of ourselves, our bodies, I guess, that's why. . . Also, my magic is different from the magic of wizards' here." He was actually quite proud of that explanation, and felt fairly positive Hermione would have said something similar.

"Well laddie!" Gimli growled suddenly, making the hobbits and Harry jump. "I for one am glad you are not immortal. Enough of them prancing about as it is! Of course, I mean no offence Master Elf. For you I make an exception." Gimli inclined his newly lit pipe in Legolas' direction. The elf smirked back, clearly amused.

The topic soon turned to other things, especially as Pippin discovered a mushroom in Harry's bowl, and became offended because he hadn't known there were mushrooms in the stew to begin with. But that turned out to be a one off, as Pippin found out when he tried to dig for more in the pot. Harry was obliged, out of pity at the sorrowful little face, to give him his, then watch as he and Merry fought over it.

Now that everyone's attention was on other things, Harry could freely examine the one silent spectator of the group. Boromir, Harry noticed, was looking particularly peaky today, and Harry had a nasty feeling he knew why as he observed the Gondorian glance discreetly at Frodo every now and then.

Harry suddenly felt a deep respect for Boromir. For all the stories he had heard of the Ring, and how powerful it was, Boromir had to have a strong will to resist it, especially when the Ring was manipulating him by using his love of Gondor and the duty he had to his country. And it was clearly giving it all it got, but Boromir still hadn't cracked yet. The deep rush of loathing Harry experienced toward the Ring at that moment was enough to alarm him slightly. Such strong emotion was better left boxed up in the Ring's presence.

"What does the Lady speak of, Harry?" Aragorn's voice brought Harry's attention back to the proceedings and away from Boromir. Aragorn's question brought to mind Harry's promise to himself about not excluding the Fellowship anymore. He hated the fact that he would have to break that promise now. He couldn't exactly tell them that he had a mission in Middle Earth, or that that mission was Boromir.

"We just talked about how I was faring in Middle Earth, and how I can help improve my stay," he settled on. After all, it was the truth, though largely glossed over.

Aragorn seemed satisfied with that, and Pippin, having, at last, won the mushroom tug-of-war with Merry, turned to Harry and reminded him, with a mouthful of fungus, that he had yet to finish telling them about the dragons.

Harry, laughing, obliged.

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A/N: Not as long a chapter as the others, but, I hardly finished it as it is. I will not update for a heck of a long time. Sorry guys, but I have Uni and this semester is particularly gruesome.

I desperately, desperately, wanted to add that at least one wizard had discovered the way to become immortal (Nicholas Flammel anyone?) but I just couldn't think where to put it. But it would have been great to see Aragorn's reaction to that I think, especially seeing as Arwen wouldn't have to give up her immortality. But alas, I am not so cruel as to give him hope only to dash it again when Harry says he doesn't know the ingredients of the philosopher's stone.

_Mayhap_: most likely or maybe. Used in the middle ages.

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So what did you think of this chapter? Please Review. I need something to sustain me until my next update.


	9. Farewell

Disclaimer: _Harry Potter_ remains the property of J.K. Rowling and any other publishers or organisations which I don't know, but don't want to anger. _The Lord of the Rings_ belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien. I am not making any profit whatsoever in writing this story. I write it purely for the sake of my own and others enjoyment.

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**Chapter Nine: Farewell.**

Harry assumed that the Fellowship had spent a fair while in Lothlorien, but what really stirred his pot, as he loitered by the hollow tree with his travelling companions on the morning of their imminent departure, was that he could not remember how much specific time had passed. It seemed to him that it was important he should remember. He could even vaguely recall counting the long days under the boughs of the _mallorn_ trees, but now, it seemed to him all a dream. It was very confusing.

Something else that was confusing were the elves that spoke fractured _Westron_ (as Aragorn had told him the primary language in middle earth was called) coming to give them each a few gifts, courtesy of the Lord and Lady. Harry had been too kind, as he looked at their faces – genuinely beaming with happiness at being able to provide the Fellowship with some extra comfort on the impending journey – to tell them he already had a magic cloak, and one that could make him entirely invisibly, rather than one that worked much like a disillusionment charm, as the elven cloaks did.

He had accepted it, adorned it, and found that it fit him perfectly and was quite warm and comfortable. He and most of others had been surprised to learn that the cloaks had been made to each of their exact measurements. Harry didn't bother to ask how the elves had worked that out. He assumed their excellent eyesight was the explanation, and left it at that.

Finally, it was time to leave. Harry positioned himself in the place between Merry and Pippin, which was unfortunate because that put him in front Boromir, and Harry would have liked to observe the man. But it could not be helped because the two hobbits had asked him to walk with them, and he couldn't very well say no without arousing suspicion.

They packed themselves with the elves next to the fountain by their tree, each feeling the sadness that their time in the Golden Wood had come to an end. For a while they had been in peace. The burdens they carried had not niggled at them half as strongly, and new friendships and understandings had formed. Yes, they were each saddened to leave, Harry especially, because it meant he would soon be leaving the Fellowship behind and following Boromir, whom, just last night, had stated his intention that he would like to go back to Minas Tirith. Every person in the Fellowship had looked surprised and confused when Harry had said he wanted to go with him. He had used the excuse of needing to see more of Middle Earth, and that this might be his last chance. The only people who hadn't said anything to that were Galadriel and Celeborn.

As the Fellowship watched the crystal water trickle repeatedly into the little stone fountain, Harry's least favourite person in Middle Earth strolled across the lawn toward them. Harry had time only to give a mental sneer at Haldir before he spotted something on the elf's shoulder that caused him to abandon any nasty thoughts he had been harbouring.

"Hedwig!" he cried delighted, not even bothering to question how chummy she was looking with the elf.

The owl, hearing his voice, abandoned Haldir's arm instantly and flapped her wings until Harry finally caught her and cuddled her gently against his chest. He was surprised by just how much he had missed his owl. She was the only friend he had from home.

Haldir greeted almost everyone with obvious delight. "I have returned from the Northern Fences, and am sent to be your guide again. The Dimrill Dale is full of vapour and clouds of smoke, and the mountains are troubled. There are noises in the deeps of the earth. If any of you had thought of returning northwards to your homes you would not have been able to pass that way."

He stopped before Harry and cocked his head in a curious manner. "Your owl found my post and stayed all of a month with me," he admitted, his lips twisting in what looked like a reluctant smile. "She is a remarkable bird, courageous and bold, and so very intelligent. I now see why you value her. She made an excellent sentry. Even Orophin has been admit to it. She watched over us in the night."

Harry felt all the tension drain out of him after hearing that. He had been sure Haldir would have said something derogatory. It surprised him that he hadn't.

The elf reached over and gently stroked Hedwig's snowy head. "I shall miss her night music."

Harry nodded. "I'll send a letter some time."

Haldir frowned in puzzlement.

"Hedwig is a post owl," Harry explained.

Haldir inclined his head gracefully.

A grudging, temporary truce had just been established.

Haldir cleared his throat. "Come all. Your path now goes south!"

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They had walked onwards for ten miles with Haldir leading them through the gentle green slopes of Caras Galadhon, until finally, after passing through a literal wall of grass, they reached their final destination.

Across the river's bank, Harry could see that no more _mallorn_-trees grew; rather, it seemed that ordinary trees had taken their place. A group of elves were standing in a few white boats that were floating on the water. They, Harry saw with gladness, were packing provisions for the Fellowship's long journey.

Also added to each of the boats was rope. The same sort of rope that the ladder Harry had climbed on his first venture into Lothlorien had been made from, as well as the rope he had crossed the rushing river with. They were lightweight and silvery. The elves explained that no one sane could travel far without a rope, especially one that wasn't of elven make. Then they and Sam got into a short and bewildering discussion on its physical properties.

Harry was strongly reminded of Professor Sprout's Herbology class.

Then, they set off.

Aragorn, Frodo, and Sam were in one boat; Boromir, Merry, and Pippin in another; and in the third were Legolas, Gimli, and Harry. Harry would have liked to share a boat with Pippin and Merry, but since he and the hobbits couldn't hope to know how to paddle or steer the craft, especially with the Silverlode's swift current, they had to make do.

It was as they turned a sharp bend in the river that music was heard, floating gently with the breeze. They saw three large swan-like boats by the river's banks. In the boats were a few paddling elves; Celeborn, decked out in kingly style, a crown of white gold adorning his blonde head; and Galadriel, strumming a harp and singing more beautifully than even Legolas could. On the land behind the boats were yet more elves, standing regally at attention.

Aragorn drew his boat alongside Galadriel's swan. "We have come to bid our last farewell," she said, "and to speed you with blessings from our land."

"Though you have been our guests," said Celeborn, "you have not eaten with us, and we bid you, therefore, to a parting feast, here between the flowing waters that will bear you far from Lorien."

Everyone was very agreeable to this suggestion, and soon found themselves out of the boats and eating a delicious feast of fruit, bread, salad, venison and other meats, and drinking sweet cold water out of large golden jugs. Harry even tipped five jug-fulls of this water into his drinking flask, feeling proud that he actually did something for his own comfort after remembering there was no fresh water in the wilderness. He garnered a couple of strange looks from the elves sitting nearest to him, (most likely wondering where all the water had gone to) but he paid them no attention.

On a second thought, Harry also filled his food pouch with three extra large scoops from every platter in front of him. Though he still had a _lot_ of the food Dumbledore had given him left, it was good to know he had even more now. Besides, if their journey turned out to be really long, it would not be particularly pleasant to hunt for his own food, or to eat Sam's sausages, or to chew the _lembas_ bread day in day out, no matter how good it tasted.

After the feast they gathered on the grass in a circle, with Celeborn and Galadriel seating themselves on two small chairs.

"Before you go," said Galadriel, "I have brought in my ship gifts which the Lord and Lady of the Galadhrim now offer you in memory of Lothlorien." Then she called them each to come forward.

Aragorn received a sheath for his sword and a stone of some sort that he pinned at once to his shirt. Boromir acquired a belt made of gold; Merry and Pippin got belts as well except theirs were way smaller and silvery green in colour with little leaf designs. Harry, gratefully and not a little puzzlingly, accepted his elven sword. _Now how to use it?_

Legolas was now the delighted owner of a brand new bow and a quiver of arrows, such as the ones the Lothlorien elves used. Sam obtained a box of dirt. Gimli, in surprise to all, asked only for a lock of hair from Galadriel's golden head. She gave him three. (A big deal, apparently) And lastly to Frodo, the elf queen gave . . . something. Harry didn't know what it was, only that it looked like water trapped in a fancy glass phial. But Harry did recognise that it was something important. Something magical.

After that it was really time to leave. The Fellowship boarded their light elven boats and made their way down the river once more, the farewelling tunes of the elves following in their wake.

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Four days later they still travelled along the river Anduin, now finding themselves in a virtually treeless land. Harry had tried, a couple of times in the past nights, to talk to Boromir, as per Galadriel's orders, but the man either thought he was daft, or mad, because he developed a look of such petulance after Harry told him the story about Ginny's experience with Tom Riddle's diary, and how the book had started controlling her bit by bit, eventually almost killing her. Harry had not tried to explain more after that, in case he bungled everything to an even worse degree. On the plus side, though, he now had time to think of a less transparent example to use, as he suspected that was why Boromir had gotten so crabby in the first place.

Four more days passed. The surrounding country had changed yet again, this time harbouring a forest of lush trees. That night, Aragorn decided they had to move on instead of waiting for the morning. In Aragorn's boat at the front of the group Sam was appointed as the watchman on the look out for protruding rocks. It was around midnight when Sam finally spotted something. A few very large, sharp somethings that would splinter their boats easily if they paddled in that direction.

Aragorn shouted a warning to them to start paddling to the banks as fast and as hard as they could. It wasn't easy because the current had picked up, and there were only so many paddles to a boat. Frodo, Sam, and Aragorn wouldn't have made it at all if Harry hadn't _protego_-ed their boat right before it crashed into the rocks.

On the bank, no one had time to feel relief from their near escape of a watery death because a fling of arrows came at them, made harder to see because of the night gloom. One hit Frodo, but bounced back immediately. After that, everyone threw themselves on the ground.

"_Yrch_!" spat Legolas, to the bewilderment of most of the Fellowship.

"Orcs," Gimli translated.

More arrows flew overhead. Across the bank, on the other side, Harry could make out black shapes scattering here and there. Shrill, guttural cries sounded in the blackness.

Suddenly, Legolas jumped up and grabbed his Lothlorien bow, looking very much like a pale, male veela in the dark. He stood at the edge of the bank, his bow stringed, searching onwards for any mark to shoot at.

A dark gloom overcame them then. Something big and black had fallen over the moon, fending off its light. Harry saw Frodo clutch his chest as if in pain. He himself felt a coldness penetrate his senses and he shivered unconsciously, remembering Gandalf telling him about the Dementor-like wraiths. He tightened his hand over his wand.

"_Elbereth Gilthoniel,"_ Legolas sighed, and looked up. Even as he did so, Harry could just make out a large, winged creature. The voices across the river grew louder as it approached.

Swiftly, Legolas positioned his bow at the sky and let loose an arrow. It must have hit the winged creature because there was a harsh croaking scream, and it fell from the air. After that, Harry couldn't hear the orc voices anymore, or see any arrows pierce the night. The coldness had disappeared along with the creature's death.

They weren't attacked anymore that night, or the next day. Harry had seen something unbelievable, though. Something he had not thought a medieval world would have the, to put it bluntly, brains, or technology to build. Or they might not have built it at all, now that he thought about it. They might have carved it out of the rock-face itself.

Two large kings on either side of the wide river had stood tall and proud, their hands positioned in either a "stop, you're not welcome" or a "Ho there friend!" gesture. Aragorn had called it the Argornath, and explained that they were his kin. Harry had been utterly amazed at the grandeur, depth of history, and meaning of such colossal monuments. Even the wizarding world had nothing to compare it to.

Aragorn continued to lead them onwards for another ten miles until they reached the end of the river, coming upon a huge waterfall. By its banks they finally clambered out, lugging their supplies behind them. Harry was certain he wasn't the only one with a saw seat. He even spotted Gimli grouching moodily and massaging his rear-end.

Harry sunk down on the ground next to Pippin, moaning at the shot of pain the action gave him. But he determinedly ignored it, and helped Sam unpack the lunch supplies.

Gimli was still grouching after Sam had a nice meal going, this time at Aragorn. "Oh yes?" he said in a way that made Harry think it wasn't supposed to be interpreted as a question. "We just go through Emyn Muil. An impassable labyrinth of razor sharp rocks. And after that, it gets even better! Festering, stinking marshlands, as far as the eyes can see."

Pippin froze in mid-chew.

"That is our road," said Aragorn with a touch of impatience. "I suggest you get some rest and recover your strength Master Dwarf."

Gimli sputtered. "Recover my . . .? _Pohh_!" He chucked his axe on the ground.

Pippin and Harry sniggered.

Just then Merry, who had been sent off to collect firewood, came back. He looked around the camp, the bundle of twigs still in his arms. "Where's Frodo?" he asked Aragorn.

Sam sat up from the tree he'd been leaning on, looking around wildly.

By the expression on Aragorn's face as he looked towards the shield that was propped innocently against a tree, Harry did not need to ask whom else had disappeared.

He jumped up, surprising everyone with his hasty action. "Merlin!" he said, and dashed off into the trees, ignoring Aragorn's earnest cry behind him.

After a few long minutes, Harry realised he was running in no particular direction, and that he would never find Frodo and Boromir if he kept this up. If only Hedwig hadn't gone hunting? He could have used her eyes. If only he had waited for Aragorn? The man knew how to track footprints. If only he could . . . he gasped at his stupidity.

Quickly he drew his wand and placed it flat on his palm. "Point me, Boromir."

It spun wildly for a moment until it froze finally, telling him that he was completely south of his quarry. Swearing, Harry wheeled around and full out sprinted across the ground.

He only hoped he was not too late, and that Boromir hadn't managed to catch up to Frodo yet.

As he ran closer to his target, he could hear – the worst sort of luck though it was – the unmistakable sounds of swords clanging. A battle was taking place, with Boromir right in the middle, and Harry was not there to protect him.

He burst into the clearing a couple of seconds later, unable to believe what his eyes were showing him. Orcs, but not orcs. Big orcs. Even uglier than ordinary orcs, ran towards Boromir, who was deflecting jabs from swords that came at him from every direction. Behind him, and safe for the moment, stood Merry and Pippin watching in silent horror.

Boromir raised his horn to his lips and blew.

It was then that Harry decided to act. He knew it was useless to try the sun spell, as these new breed of orcs were obviously not bothered by the sun. He did not know how to use the killing curse, so he decided to try his best defensive curses, the ones that almost always worked, unless the enemy had a thick hide.

And so it was Harry found himself leaping into the fray a few meters away from Boromir throwing off a volley of stupefy's, impediment jinxes, immobilising curses, and expelliarmus's like a madman. Orcs were lifted off their feet and blasted into trees; swords were ripped out of claw-like hands by an invisible force, and flung dangerously about; blackened bodies stiffened in permanent surprise before falling over . . . It was chaos! Utter bizarre chaos that no one, not the orcs, Boromir, Merry, Pippin, and even Harry could work out.

"STAB THEM!" Harry shouted to Merry and Pippin, pointing at the newly unconscious orcs. "THEY AREN'T DEAD! JUST KNOCKED OUT!"

They looked at him as though they had only just realised he was a wizard.

"WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR?" he barked at them.

They jumped and nodded, moving quickly with swords raised. They made short work of the passed-out orcs while Harry and Boromir continued to fight, keeping the remaining orcs from reaching the hobbits. The creatures just didn't know what to make of Harry. A few of them, wisely, kept their distance, (not that it helped much, because his spells could cover great distances) and others, stupidly, moved to attack him, only to get a _stupefy_ for their efforts – and a sword in their backs soon after, courtesy of a hobbit.

Harry was so involved in fighting the orcs that he missed seeing the thick, black arrow launch itself straight into Boromir's right arm. He could not, however, miss the hiss of pain that erupted from the Gondorian's mouth, or the clatter of the sword as it fell from his grasp, the hurt in his arm being too great to hold it up, or either it had damaged some nerves.

Harry whirled, scanning his surroundings. There were about a dozen orcs left that weren't dead, but now, after seeing what Harry had done to their brethren, they were loath to approach him or Boromir. Finally, he spotted the offending orc that had shot the arrow. It was just about the ugliest looking thing he had ever seen.

"Get the Halflings!" it shouted. "Kill the boy!"

It had to repeat itself once more as the orcs, still looking warily at Harry, didn't move to follow the order.

They finally did move, just as the head orc strung another arrow. Harry threw off some more impedimenta's, slowing two down, before quickly casting _protego_ at Boromir. He only just made it. The arrow had been shot, but it only pinged harmlessly to the side as it struck the shield charm.

The head orc roared in confused frustration, and Boromir threw Harry a grateful look.

Harry turned back to the battle to discover he'd taken too long in assisting Boromir. He found himself with a face full of smelly orc as one of them ploughed into him, dragging him down, crushing him with its heavy body, causing his wand to go flying.

_CRACK!_

"AAAAGH!" Harry landed awkwardly on his left ankle, breaking it.

The orc moved wildly above him, smothering him with its weight. Harry could feel its putrid breath on his face, and he struggled, bucking and hitting and clawing, but nothing could get it off.

It cackled unpleasantly. "I'm gunna strangle you and put yer 'ead on a pike!" it told him before wrapping its filthy hands around his neck.

Harry gasped, choking.

Just then the orc stiffened. Guttural, gasping sounds came from its mouth before it keeled over, right on top of Harry. Above him stood a panting Boromir, sword clutched tightly in his left hand. In his right was Harry's wand. He placed a booted foot on the orc's back and pushed. The body flopped beside him, very dead.

"Thanks," Harry rasped.

Boromir inclined his head. "Can you stand?"

Harry nodded. "If I had help – _WATCH OUT_!"

Boromir performed a sort of ducking pirouette just as Harry snatched his wand. But this time he was too late. A second arrow hit Boromir right in the upper-chest area. The man opened his mouth but no sound came out. He stared at Harry, blinking uncomprehendingly.

Harry looked on in horror. He couldn't have failed! Boromir was going to live!

But how could they have forgotten about the head orc?

The world around Harry watched in utter silence as the creature now ran toward them in seeming triumph. It didn't register to him that all the other orcs were long gone and that Merry and Pippin were missing. It didn't register that Boromir could be dying at this very moment. It didn't register when Aragorn, Gimli and Legolas skidded into the clearing. All Harry focused on was that he had failed, once again, in protecting a friend, and that that friend was going to die – because of him.

It was that thought that snapped him out of his comatose state.

"_STUPEFY!"_ He shouted, putting all the feelings of anger and confusion and loathing he had into this one spell. The orc, now having arrived two feet away from Harry, flew back instantly in a flash of brilliant red light, blasting twenty meters across the clearing before crashing into a mound of hill. It laid still, its neck positioned at an unnatural angle. It was dead.

Harry turned hastily to Boromir just as Aragorn ran over, coming to a halt by the other man's side. Legolas and Gimli kept a few feet away.

"They took the little ones," said Boromir.

"Stay still," Aragorn told him. He gently prodded the arrow shafts that stuck morbidly out of Boromir's body.

"H-he's not going to . . ." Harry couldn't finish the sentence.

Aragorn threw him a cursory glance. "If we can remove the arrows in time, he might yet live."

"It is all right, young wizard," rasped Boromir, his face turning awfully pale. "If I go, at least I know I have sacrificed for a noble cause." His breathing became fractured.

"Legolas!" Aragorn shouted. The elf was there immediately. "Gimli." The dwarf soon followed. "I will need you to hold him down."

They both nodded grimly.

Suddenly, Boromir clutched Aragorn's shoulder. "Where is Frodo?"

Aragorn searched Boromir with an understanding gaze. "I let Frodo go," he whispered.

"Then you did what I could not!"

Aragorn looked down briefly, then moved to grasp the arrows.

"Leave it!" Boromir implored. "It is over. I deserve it!"

Aragorn frowned, not understanding.

"I tried to take the ring from Frodo," Boromir admitted, sobbing. "Forgive me. I did not see."

"No Boromir," Aragorn disagreed. "You fought bravely. You have regained your honour."

Boromir continued to pant horribly, and Harry could not believe what he was witnessing. It seemed strange to him that Boromir might die this way. It seemed too demeaning of a death. If Madam Promfrey were here the arrows would be out already, the wounds completely healed, and the Gondorian resting in a comfortable dreamless sleep. It couldn't end this way. It just couldn't!

Aragorn motioned to Gimli and Legolas with a nod of his head, still clutching Boromir's hand. Gimli slumped down across the man's chest while Legolas sat on his legs.

Aragorn's hand curled around the arrow in Boromir's chest. "I will count thrice," he said.

Boromir nodded wildly.

Aragorn took a deep breath –

"Wait," said Harry. This was inhumane.

Aragorn shook his head, not looking at him. "Harry it must be done, and must be done quickly!"

"I know," Harry agreed. "But there's another way. A less painful way. A better way."

This got their attention.

"What way?"

"Magic. Summoning Charms. Healing Charms. I . . . I just need to look through a book of mine. It'll only take a minute. Is that too long?"

Aragorn gaped, but it was Boromir that answered. "Search," he croaked.

"Right," Harry nodded. Then he went through the motions of unshrinking his trunk, rummaging around until he found _Standard Book of Spells: Grade Five_, and flipping the pages until he located the healing charm he was searching for.

Harry had never attempted this charm. Mostly because it hadn't been required of him to learn. It was only in the book as a sort of passing reference.

_The Knit Charm, (Incantation: _Manderus Clapsia_) can be used for healing major flesh wounds. However, it is not recommended for OWL Level as the caster requires a considerable amount of concentration on his or her part, due to the fact that an unfocussed mind will result in the wounds opening even more, causing the patient to bleed to death . . ._

Well, technically, he had finished his OWLS a few months ago so that wasn't going to happen to him,Harry reasoned.

He needed to clear his mind. Right.

He closed his eyes and determinedly tried to think of nothing.

He didn't know if it had worked or not, but when he opened his eyes again Harry was filled with a familiar determination that made him feel it was possible to accomplish anything.

"I'm ready," he said to Aragorn, crawling in place next to Boromir, and trying to ignore the sharp, twisting pain in his ankle.

"We will continue to hold him," said Legolas.

Gimli grunted his concurrence.

Harry gave them a grateful nod.

"Alright," he breathed. "Alright. It has to be done quickly. Okay. Okay. _Accio _arrow!"

Boromir jerked violently – Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli holding on – as the shaft whooshed out of his left shoulder in a horrible squelching noise and into Harry's waiting hand. He tossed it away reflexively and pointed his wand at the wound. "_Manderus Clapsia_," he mumbled in what he hoped sounded like conviction.

A soft blue light shimmered out of his wand, smelling faintly of mint. It enveloped Boromir's shoulder completely. When the light vanished, so did the wound. Harry could have jumped for joy. He had finally preformed proper magic on his first go at a new spell. He wondered, briefly, if this was how Hermione felt every time she stepped into a classroom.

Boromir looked astonished, as though he had thought the magic wouldn't have worked. He flexed his arm experimentally. "Nothing," he breathed. "There is no pain."

Aragorn grinned and clasped Harry's shoulder. "You have done well, young Istar."

Harry nodded thankfully, feeling proud that he had gained Aragorn's approval. Then he made quick work of the other wound, which, fortunately, was not as serious. When Harry had finished, Boromir was almost as good as new, except that he was dead tired and could hardly stand on his feet.

Harry sat in an awkward position at the foot of everyone's legs. A slightly swaying Boromir was being held up between Legolas and Gimli. Aragorn kneeled by Harry, examining his foot.

"_Ouch_!" he cried when Aragorn prodded a particularly painful area.

"I am sorry." Aragorn stared at him. "Can you not heal yourself using magic?"

Harry felt a trickle of sweat course down the side of his cheek. "No," he said tightly. "I don't know how to mend broken bones."

Aragorn looked grim. "I shall have to set your ankle. It will be painful."

Harry nodded. "Do it."

"Gimli!" Aragorn called.

The dwarf extracted his arm from around Boromir's waste, leaving Legolas with job of keeping him up, and seized hold of Harry's arms, clutching them tightly to his side. "It'll be right, laddie," he gruffed, his eyes surprisingly warm.

Aragorn grasped a gentle hold of Harry's ankle and nodded, silently asking for permission. Harry nodded back. Aragorn executed a sharp twist.

"AAAAAAAAAHHH!" Harry fell back, panting in blinding pain and exhaustion. He didn't even notice when the dwarf released his arms.

"Gimli, hand me Harry's sword."

Harry felt hands on the belt at his waist and heard a scraping noise as his sword was removed from its sheath. "What are you doing?" he asked Aragorn through gritted teeth.

"Your ankle needs support to mend. The sword will be that support," he explained. "I will need cloth."

Aragorn shrugged out of his Lothlorien cloak. Harry saw he was about to cut it up. "No! I have plenty of shirts in my trunk."

Aragorn nodded his thanks and moved to search through Harry's trunk; finally producing one of Dudley's checked elephant shirts. Harry's head flopped back in exhaustion, now almost completely drained. He heard slicing, tearing sounds. Seconds later he felt the cool press of metal against his bare ankle and leg, then the warmth of cloth surrounding it. He hadn't even realised, until then, that Aragorn must have taken his shoe off.

The next second he was being prodded to awareness.

"We must leave Harry," said Aragorn, looming over him. "Could you perform magic on your crate to make it small again?"

Harry nodded, lifted his trembling wand arm, and tapped the trunk. _"Substrictus Minimus."_

Then he was being lifted in strong arms and carried gently away. He didn't notice where, nor did he really care. He was feeling quite comfortable, despite the pain in his ankle, so comfortable that he, at last, stopped fighting his magical and physical exhaustion and succumbed to a much needed sleep.

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Harry awoke just as Aragorn, Gimli, and Legolas finished weighting down the elven boats with any unnecessary equipment. Boromir was lying next to him, resting in a light doze. Harry himself did not feel that he had slept for a terribly long time.

Aragorn came to squat in front of him, tossing his hair with a jerk of his head. "Good, you have woken. Here." He handed Harry his miniature trunk, then pointed to Legolas and Gimli. "We three will follow the Uruk-hai that have captured Merry and Pippin. We have decided that you and Boromir shall stay here. He is too worn in body to follow now, and you have a broken limb. You will look after each other. He will see to you once he has rested aplenty. When you are well and able again, you will travel to Minas Tirith with Boromir. This Boromir has agreed to, even though he would have liked to follow in the Uruks path and finish the battle he had started."

Harry just stared, not knowing what to think. "Um," he said finally, after getting an absolutely brilliant idea. "I suppose this'll be a good time to mention I have some Pepper-up Potion stashed in my food pouch."

Aragorn raised his brows. "What?"

"Pepper-up Potion. It gives you energy, even more so than chocolate. It cures minor sicknesses. Warms you up. Makes you want to run and, erm, other stuff." He didn't know quite how to explain himself. "If we give it to Boromir, he can go with you –"

Aragorn shook his head. "What of you, then? No, he cannot –"

"But I don't need to walk or run!" The ranger stared at him as though he were mental. "I mean, I can fly! I have a broom."

Aragorn's expression cleared. Then he grinned, chuckling. "So you do. I had forgotten." He stood up. "We shall go together then. You shall give Boromir the spice potion, and trail after the orcs on your . . . broom." He shook his head in bemusement, his eyes trailing over Harry's form. "A very strange wizard has come upon us. But a very valuable one as well."

"Aragorn," Harry asked after realising something. "Where are Frodo and Sam?"

The man's expression darkened. "They are on the eastern shore. They are left to themselves now."

"What!"

"They follow their own path," Aragorn explained patiently. "They must, else the ring tempts another to its cause."

Harry nodded in sad understanding.

A hoot sounded from the space above them. He and Aragorn looked up to see Hedwig perched in the tree. He smiled sadly, knowing what he had to do. "You never leave me, do you girl. But you're going to have to now."

Harry did not see the curious stare Aragorn gave him.

"Come here girl." He gestured to Hedwig and she fluttered down on the ground next to him. He removed the food pouch from his belt, then enlarged his trunk and pulled out a bottle of ink, one quill, and a few parchments. Aragorn came to squat beside him once more, staring with unabashed interest.

"What do you do, Harry?"

Harry stared hopefully at the ranger, before presenting him with a corner of the parchment, as well as a quill and inkbottle. "I'm going to give Frodo and Sam a barrel's worth of food and drink, as well as a way to communicate with us. Could you write a short letter explaining to them what it's all for, and that Hedwig can be used to deliver post to me, or to whomever they want."

If Aragorn was stunned or amazed by Harry's request, he didn't show it, instead, he set about doing what Harry had asked him to. When Aragorn finished, Harry took back the quill and inkbottle, and the rest of the remaining parchment, and tipped it into the pouch. This, along with Aragorn's letter, he tied to each of Hedwig's legs.

He placed her on his forearm, wondering if he'd every see her again. "Take this to Frodo and Sam, Hedwig. Stay with them always, unless they need to send us a message. Protect them like you would protect me. Okay?"

Hedwig hooted softly and nipped his nose with her beak before she launched off, nearly scraping Legolas's head as she passed the riverbank, (the elf ducked in the last second). Gimli was chuckling.

"That was a very noble thing you did, Harry," said Aragorn quietly.

"Yea," Harry agreed.

Aragorn stood once more. "Come, we must wake Boromir and prepare."

Twenty minutes later they were all ready to leave, Boromir having just drunk the Pepper-up Potion and proclaiming he had never felt so hearty in his life. Harry still sat, palming his Firebolt, which lay across his lap. It was time to go.

Aragorn and Gimli grasped each of his arms and hefted him up so that he stood awkwardly on one leg. Harry positioned his broom so that it rested under his bottom before nodding at them to let him go.

Even Legolas could not contain his amazement at finally seeing for himself a broomstick that hovered waist-height in the air.

"Ready when you are," Harry grinned cheekily before _SWOOSH!_

The Firebolt had the capability to accelerate at 110 miles per hour. It was likely that his companions had never seen anything go that fast, and they jumped back in shocked surprise as he suddenly launched himself almost vertically into the air. In a few seconds, Harry could not even make them out anymore.

He peered down at the landscape. He was really too far up to see anything, let alone a party of ant-like orcs that must have travelled some way by now.

He would have to go back down.

He steered gently. He would have preferred to travel in a Wronski Feint, but he didn't think his ankle could take the pressure of the wind.

Harry lowered the broom until he just skimmed the topmost branches of the trees. Some meters below him stood Aragorn, Gimli, Legolas, and Boromir.

"Most impressive lad!" called Gimli. "Now we have an advantage over the Uruk-Hai." The rest murmured in agreement.

"Indeed, you can scout ahead. Now, let us hunt some orc!" Aragorn cried before running up the slope.

The rest, including Harry, followed him.

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A/N: Phew! They are finally out of Lothlorien!

What do you think?

REVIEW!


	10. Unexpected Company

Disclaimer: _Harry Potter_ remains the property of J.K. Rowling and any other publishers or organisations which I don't know, but don't want to anger. _The Lord of the Rings_ belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien. I am not making any profit whatsoever in writing this story. I write it purely for the sake of my own and others enjoyment.

A/N: WOW! Thanks for all the nice reviews guys!

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**Chapter Ten: Unexpected Company**

"We're lost Mr Frodo, and make no mistake," said Sam grouchily, staring at the endless expanse of grey, dreary, tumble-turvy rocks that made up Emyn Muil. "Everythin's lookin' the same, and there's a foul stench about!"

He and Frodo stood shoulder to shoulder, their little shoulders hunched in dejected poses, made to look even more dejected by the heavy packs on their backs. Hedwig, their wizard friend's pet owl, was perched stiffly on one of the many large boulders, her yellow eyes regarding them with a curious kind of pity. It had been three days since Frodo and Sam had left the Fellowship, three days in which they had travelled and climbed (and occasionally slipped), up knots of gigantic rock and barren slopes of stone. They had laboured under their heavy packs and under the foul stench that seemed as if it oozed from the very ground on which they walked.

Many times they had become lost, were, in fact, still lost, but that hadn't really stopped them from continuing; even now when they both realised they had gone around in the same circle for perhaps the third time that day.

"I know," Frodo now said in agreement with his friend's previous conclusion. "I'm sorry Sam. But there's not much we can do now about it. Why don't we rest and try to get our bearings?" he suggested before doing just that. Sam hunkered down next to him. "What food have we got?"

"Let's see then," said Sam, rummaging around in his pack until he pulled out a small, brown sack. "It'll be a surprise again, no doubt. There's no end to this thing of Mr Harry's."

"It's rather like Pippin's stomach isn't it?" said Frodo in an attempt to achieve some light banter and lift the perpetual gloom off of their hearts.

"I'd say so, and I'm glad of that, indeed I am," Sam replied before sticking an arm into the sack. He kept it there for a short while, apparently searching for food, though no movement could be seen by Frodo's eyes. Sam's arm came out again, this time with a flagon in hand. He tossed it to Frodo. "Some water. As cool as ever I'd wager."

Frodo nodded in relieved acquiescence after taking a large gollop. "Anything else?" he asked, handing the flagon back to Sam who drew a swallow.

"Hmm," said Sam now, with his arm back in the sack. "I think, I think I feel some of tha' _choke_-let stuff. I've a feelin' as if there are little square ridges under my fingers."

"I should like to taste some again then Sam, although it is very sweet. I imagine it should not be eaten as lunch. It tastes more like desert doesn't it?"

"That it does," Sam agreed before withdrawing the block of Honeydukes chocolate from the pouch. He broke off two large pieces and threw one to Frodo. Then he packed away the chocolate and they both settled down to eat.

It had been a shock to them both, when, not even three hours after they had left the Fellowship, Harry's occasionally wayward owl had come flying towards them with a small yellow note and a brown sack strapped to either of her legs. Of course, Frodo and Sam had seen this brown sack before, and they were comforted by the knowledge that it contained _a lot_ of food and _a lot_ of drink. They had read Aragorn's note, which had briefly explained that, at the request of Harry, Hedwig and the food pouch was at their disposal for the remainder of their perilous journey.

They had been overjoyed, for they had not been particularly partial to the idea of eating _lembas_ for the rest of their trek into the Dark Lands, or having to go without water when theirs ran out. And now they could actually write letters to the Fellowship, and the Fellowship could write back. And not just that, they could send Hedwig to anyone in Middle Earth. Even Lord Elrond, far away in Rivendell, or Lady Galadriel in fair Lothlorien. They knew they could do this because Aragorn had explained it all in the letter.

After Hedwig had arrived the hobbits had felt not so small anymore in this vast, cruel land, for now they had a link to the world outside Mordor; and its heavy, dreary presence on their souls had abolished slightly at this conclusion. Only, it had returned somewhat in the last few hours when they had started losing their way amidst the harsh environment of Emyn Muil.

Looking at Hedwig now still sitting perched on the bolder beside him, Frodo thought of something. It seemed to him a very good something to think of, especially since he had just been pondering on how lost he and Sam currently were. However, he had no clue if this something would work. He would post the question to his friend, and see what he made of it.

"It just occurred to me that Hedwig can travel to anyone we tell her to if Aragorn's letter is to be believed, is that not right Sam?"

"I'd say so," said Sam, still munching his chocolate. "I gather all we have to do is tell 'er the name of the person we wish to send a letter to. I can send 'er to my Old Gaffer if I wanted. At least, tha's the idea I've been gettin' from readin' Strider's note, if you pardon me Mr Frodo."

"Of course Sam. The same has occurred to me. I should very much like to write to Bilbo and hear what he's been up to in Rivendell since we left. But Sam, to be able to do that, Hedwig must have an excellent sense of direction. I expect it is because she is a wizard's pet, and has her own queer magic."

Sam caught on to what Frodo was trying to say immediately. "You mean if we asked 'er to, she could lead us out of here? Now there's an idea!"

Frodo nodded, smiling in relief, for he felt rather brilliant at the moment. "Exactly Sam."

Then both of them cast their attentions on the great owl, who was now regarding them with a suspicious, squinting gaze.

"So how do we go about askin'?" said Sam after he and Frodo had stood up again. "There're no names to tell 'er this time, for we don't want 'er to find us a person."

Frodo bit his lip, now not so certain that his brilliant idea was so brilliant after all. "Perhaps if we ask her to fly ahead, and to always remain within our sight? Then we can follow her out."

"Now tha's usin' the old noggin, Mr Frodo. Shall you try or shall I?"

"I believe I want to. I must be polite to her Sam. Have you seen the way Harry speaks to her? As though she is a real person?"

Sam nodded, remembering. "Aye, I understand."

"And I have just the thing to say." Frodo stared at the white owl. The owl stared back. He bowed politely, cleared his throat, and began (very respectfully in his opinion). "Miss Hedwig, Sam and I shall be ever so grateful for your assistance at this moment in time, for you see, we are quite lost, and we most humbly ask you to lead us out of this horrid place."

Hedwig's only reaction was to cock her head to the side.

"I do not understand," said Frodo in exasperation, and after a few minutes of mutual staring between owl and hobbit. "Why is she not leaving?"

"P'rhaps we need to tell 'er where she's to lead us to?" Sam suggested. He, too, had been confused as to why Hedwig hadn't responded.

"You're right Sam!" cried Frodo joyfully. "She must not have understood my question."

Hedwig hooted.

The hobbits jumped in surprise, before grinning at each other.

"Dya see that, Mr Frodo! She's speakin' to us," said Sam, looking on in awe. "Just like with Mr Harry."

"I see Sam! I see!" Frodo regarded Hedwig with a critical eye. "Would you lead us out of Emyn Muil Hedwig, and until you see the Black Gate? We would like you to remain in our sight at all times, please."

This time Hedwig hooted twice before spreading her large wings and launching off the rock. As she flew over their heads and into the free air she seemed to the hobbits in that moment with the sun shining on her white, glowing body, as a symbol of hope and freedom. Their hearts lifting with the sight, they followed after her, though this time with a very definite lilt to their step.

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That night, after replenishing their empty bellies with food and drink, Frodo, Sam, and Hedwig settled down to sleep. It was, perhaps, unfortunate for the hobbits that Hedwig had been awake during the whole day (leading them through Emyn Muil with the sun shining in her sensitive eyes), otherwise she would not have been so tired now, and so, would not have felt the inclination to close those sensitive eyes, or to place her head in a comfortably warm spot under her left wing. Despite being intelligent and magical, Hedwig was still an owl, after all, and could not be expected to know what was required of her without explicit instruction from the hobbits. She knew with Harry, of course. He was her master and her best friend, and it was her job to know what he wanted of her before he even knew himself. It was all part of a wizard owl's physiology.

And so, with no instruction from Frodo and Sam, and not being able to read them like she could Harry, poor Hedwig fell into a very contented, very deep sleep, where images of field mice and other such rodents danced under her eyelids.

It was lucky the hobbits were not so very tired themselves.

Or, more to the point, they _were_ very tired, but they dared not sleep from knowing there was something out there, following them.

It was Frodo who had realised something was sniffing at their trail, and that that something was not very far off.

"We are not alone," he had said to Sam earlier that afternoon.

Ever since then, the hobbits had been on their guard, knowing that the thing (which they suspected very strongly might be that Gollum creature) could attack at any moment, especially when they lay relaxed and unsuspecting under their warm blankets.

As it was, they heard him before they saw him.

"Thievesss. Thievesss. You filthy little thievesss. They takes it. They takes it from uss." He spoke in a low, guttural hissing sort of voice that seemed to produce more incoherent muttering than actual words. It was the first time the hobbits had heard that voice, and they felt a chill down their spines at the harshness of it.

As they heard the hissing sounds come closer, they opened their eyes just a little to find the creature already above them, clinging to the rock.

The hobbits moved as one surprising Gollum so much that he hadn't the time to get on the defensive . . . unless he bit and kicked them. This he did to Sam and Frodo, respectively. Sam was forced to let go of Gollum's neck, while Frodo was flung unceremoniously onto the ground. This action caused the chain, with the Ring attached, to make itself visible, catching Gollum's glinting eye. He leapt, snarling, his hands going for Frodo's little neck, but fortunately for Frodo, something happened to make Gollum change his mind.

In mid leap, Gollum was jerked to such a strong halt that his twiddley legs and large feet flapped upwards, almost colliding with his own face. And he had stopped in mid snarl, so he was forced to make a sound that went something like "urgghahhssss". Then he was being lifted up in the air, high in the air, his body bobbing up and down like a cork on water with every flap of Hedwig's large, beautiful wings.

"Arrrrhhhssss!" cried Gollum while he struggled in Hedwig's talons. He, and the hobbits, and even Hedwig knew that he dared not attempt to hit her or pinch her, because he was now so high up that Hedwig would have dropped him to his doom if he so much as attempted to pry her talons from his shoulders. But that didn't stop Gollum from struggling, and the more he struggled, the tighter and deeper went Hedwig's claws, so that Gollum had to finally stop, for the pain was too much.

Then he let out such a pathetic howl at his own forced submission, that the Hobbits, especially Frodo, were inclined to feel pity at the wretchedness of his twisted mind and lost, corrupted soul.

"Bring him down Hedwig! But do not drop him, even if he struggles!" Frodo shouted.

Hedwig did not just bring him down. She let herself freefall into a sharp dive that had Gollum screeching even louder and covering his eyes with a skinny forearm, so as not to witness the fast approaching ground.

A few meters above the ground Hedwig came to a halt, then she opened her claws and Gollum was dropped awkwardly on the hard rock. Before he could attempt to do anything, Sam slipped the elven rope about his neck.

Gollum howled.

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He was still howling the next morning when the hobbits dragged him through a low ravine, with Hedwig flying a little ways ahead. Sam, who was the one holding Gollum's rope, couldn't take it anymore. Gollum had been tugging, and dragging, and screeching, and howling the entire morning, and when he tugged, and dragged, and screeched, and howled just then, Sam lost his patience.

"Be quite!" he cried, whirling around to see the creature perched on the edge of a rock.

"Sam," said Frodo, almost in warning.

Gollum screeched even louder, tugging at the rope at his neck. "It burns! It burns uss!"

"Get down!" yelled Sam, and snapped the rope so harshly that Gollum was one again face to face with his large flapping feet.

"Sam!" Frodo cried, half in horror, half in something else.

"Every orc in Mordor's going to hear that racket!" spat Sam, hating Gollum even more.

Frodo privately agreed, but he did not think this was the way to go about treating this creature. Instead, he moved to stand next to Gollum, who was writhing and moaning on the pebbly ground like a fox caught in a trap; a trap that, in Gollum's case, was the elven rope around his neck.

When he caught sight of Frodo above him, Gollum stood on his knees and presented the rope to the hobbit, looking with pathetic, imploring eyes. "Take it off uss!" he hissed.

Frodo could not help but feel pity. "You know the way to the black gate." It wasn't a question.

Gollum now looked suspicious.

It took perhaps a couple more minutes of arguing with Sam, bargaining with Gollum, and more arguing with Sam, to finally convince the both of them that using Gollum as a guide through Mordor was a good idea. Sam argued using Hedwig as an excuse, but Frodo pointed out that after Emyn Muil, they really had no clue where any other place, or the name of any other place was, so they could not tell Hedwig. Sam conceded after that.

"And," said Frodo now, after removing the rope from Gollum's neck. "We can send Hedwig to the others explaining the new situation, since we do not need her currently. She can find us again later."

Sam accepted that idea, though grudgingly, and the hobbits, with Gollum watching on curiously, set about writing a note and tying it to one of Hedwig's legs.

After finishing, the hobbits petted Hedwig's soft, downy head, remembering that Harry had always performed this action for her. The owl leaned into their hands, a look of pleasure on her face.

"Please take that letter to your master, Hedwig," said Frodo.

Hedwig gently nipped Frodo and Sam's noses with her beak, surprising them greatly, before flapping high, and higher, and higher, and over the ravine, until they could not see her anymore.

Their spirits fell slightly at the sight.

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Merry and Pippin felt, among other unpleasant things, highly uncomfortable at the moment. For the passed three days . . . was it three? They weren't entirely sure. Of course they weren't entirely sure about a lot of things at the moment, but they knew they were the most sure about this; that the hours seemed to blend together like a mashed up mushroom pie that had just been taken out of the stove, the steam syphoning up their noses in delicious woodsy swirls; and the combination of mushroom and lamb, with a hint of spicy sauce, tickling their tongues before sliding blissfully warm down their throats, coming to a _plop_ in their bellies where it would rest comfortably for the nest couple of hours . . . _sigh_ . . .

With not much else to do but hang limply off of the fat smelly necks of the Uruk-hai, they had also taken to daydreaming constantly. Mostly about food; other times with a longing for a clean hobbit privy. A bath was also on the agenda, although, that was something they had learned to do without in the last couple of months, so the lack of cleanliness didn't bother them nearly as highly as a lack of comfortable holes in which to do their business in.

Certainly, the Uruks had had to stop more than a few times on account of disgruntled hobbit complaints and grumbles.

And they had complained and grumbled, most frequently too.

And not just about the lack of certain necessities, but also about the various aches, pains, and bruises they'd accumulated due to being tossed, jarred, jutted, bounced, rolled, and all those other unpleasant sensations that came from riding on a heavily armoured, fast running – sometimes up and down hills – Uruk.

Not to mention — the stench was _unbelievable_!

It was quite obvious that these Uruks had not had a bath in like _forever_!

Merry and Pippin had frequently tried breathing through their navels, but after discovering that this did not make up part of a hobbit's physiology (as opposed to a grasshopper's), they gave up. Well they'd had to, for fear of passing out from lack of air!

So, they'd had to stifle it, and endure smelly armpits (the stench of which could be likened to a hot, rotting carcass sweltering under the midday sun), bad breath (Old Proudfoot's very loud, and very proud gas expulsions after a breakfast of half-a-dozen eggs), and the overall smell of the Uruk-hai's themselves (which did not even bear describing, it was that horrible).

Suffice to say, Merry and Pippin had not had a good time of it. No indeed.

This was why they had taken to daydreaming, or more to the point, hallucinating about pleasant things.

So when Merry and Pippin, still bouncing uncomfortably on the Uruk's backs, heard a whispered "_Psst_. Merry, Pippin!" by their ears, they, as anyone in their position would assume, thought they were having another hallucination — although this one seemed to involve a leak of some sort, which gave the hobbits the idea they needed to empty their bowels again.

But when the voice sounded once more, asking, actually _asking_, "Are you two alright?" they thought that the hazardous stench they'd come to live with in the passed three days was finally effecting their brains, and that they were, in fact, loosing what was left of their wits.

Feeling uncertain (or perhaps just needing assurance that he wasn't going mad) Pippin cleared his throat. "Merry, _Merry_!" he whispered furiously.

"Yes Pippin!" Merry returned, just as furiously.

"I'm hearing voices, Merry."

Merry didn't say anything to that for along time, until: "I'm hearing voices, too, Pippin."

Pippin's breath came out in little shuddering gasps. "D-does that mean we've gone mad?"

"You're not mad!" said the voice again, this time with a hint of irritableness.

The hobbits jumped (or at least jumped a little more than they were jumping already).

"Who's there?" asked Merry with a frown, looking around.

Pippin had thought the voice sounded a little familiar, but he couldn't place it.

"It's. Me!" it said anxiously, and the hobbits finally recognised who it was.

"Harry!" they shouted, overjoyed.

"Shut yer filthy little gobs!" yelled an especially nasty Uruk named Ugluk up the front, "or I'll 'ave 'em fer breakfast!"

"_Silencio_. That should do it. This lot don't seem too friendly," Harry whispered.

"Where are you? Why don't we see you? Do you have the Ring? How did you come here?" said the hobbits, talking over the top of each other.

"Er . . . magic," said Harry, sounding like he didn't know which question to answer first. "Look, Aragorn's sent me to check up on you. Have they, er, mistreated you in anyway? What I mean is, do you have enough food and stuff?"

"No," they said together.

"It's been horrible," said Merry.

"They don't feed us at all," Pippin continued morosely.

"I've got some _Lembas_ bread," Harry said. "I can put some in your mouths if you open them up." Harry's voice now sounded from above them.

Obligingly, the hobbits did so, and the next second they saw a flash of black fabric and a hand appear above them in midair and a chunk of elven way bread dropping into their mouths, before there was, once again, blue skies and nothing else.

They munched on the generous helpings (at least generous to big people) for a couple of minutes.

"Listen," Harry now said, his voice sounding beside their ears again, "Aragorn and the others are on your trail, they'll catch up pretty quick. Legolas reckons their gaining on the Uruk-hai, something about 'whips of the masters not being as whippy,' I don't know . . . In the meantime hang in there, alright?"

"If you hadn't noticed, Harry," said Merry, annoyance present in his voice because he thought Harry was making fun of them, "we're doing that already."

"Not . . . I . . ." Harry breathed, mumbling. "I didn't mean it like that. It's just one of those things, you know. Things people say in my world. It means, er, keep at it, stand your ground, stand firm, that sort of thing."

"Well we aren't standing," said Pippin, half seriously half stupidly.

"Forget it," was all Harry said to that, and sighed. "Just know that the others'll likely catch up to you pretty soon. Have hope, and all that. _Finite Incantatem_." Then he paused before whispering, "I'd better leave. I'll come back to visit s—"

"Somethin' the matter?" growled Ugluk suddenly in his gruff voice, cutting Harry off in mid-speech.

There was a heavy sniffing, rumbly sound. "I smell boy-flesh!" was snarled by another Uruk named Lugdush.

There was a shuffling and clattering as every Uruk came to a halt and started sniffing maniacally.

Merry and Pippin heard a clenched, "Damn it!" before they felt a fluttering of something like smooth cloth against their cheeks, and a great _swooshing_ sound, then nothing.

"He's left," said Merry.

But the hobbits were grinning.

A gleam of hope had come to them.

They now knew they weren't alone.

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As Harry flew back in Aragorn, Boromir, Legolas, and Gimli's direction he cast off his invisibility cloak and stuffed it inside his robe pocket, wincing as he did so, because a part of the cloak had snagged a little on his broken ankle. Aragorn had, of course, examined it just that morning, but it was still too tender to do much with it, so he'd left it like it was. Although, he had contended to tie an extra shirt of Dudley's around it, which made Harry look like he had a great fat pillow hanging off his leg.

Harry chuckled to himself, thinking if Madame Promfrey could see him now . . .

_What was that?_

Harry halted in mid-air and cast his attention to what he was sure was the East. There it was in the distance, plonked between the mountains like a dirty great thumb. The Mountain of Doom. Appropriate name, Harry now thought, especially since a whole load of black smoke was rising out of it. Harry felt a shiver encompass his body as he saw that blackness, the kind of shiver he got when he went up against Voldemort. _Poor Frodo and Sam._

_Hedwig, I hope you're okay. _

Shaking his head to clear it of all unpleasant thoughts, Harry gently nudged his broom with his thighs and continued flying onwards. He wasn't flying at a very fast pace, just enough so that his ankle wouldn't be pressured. The cool wind moved across his face and through his hair, mangling and massaging it so pleasantly, that Harry wasn't aware he'd closed his eyes and plastered a stupid smile across his face. The whole sensation was extremely comfortable. He could sit here forever.

_When will I get to go home?_

The thought came unbidden, sudden, surprising him.

He opened worried eyes.

When _would_ he get to go home? Hadn't he already saved Boromir? Hadn't he already completed his mission? If Harry closed his eyes right now and fell asleep, deliberately dreaming of Hogwarts, would he — if Dumbledore's theory was correct — be taken there? If so, what would happen to Hedwig? What would happen to his stuff? He couldn't just leave them stuck here! The very idea of never seeing his faithful owl, or his beloved Firebolt, or his Father's invisibility cloak, or his photo album was so ghastly that Harry firmly told himself he would never dream, ever, about Hogwarts until he figured out how to take his stuff with him.

But for that he needed to find one of the wayward wizards that Middle Earth hosted, but there were only three of them (four if he counted Saruman, which he didn't), and no one, not even Galadriel knew where they were!

If only Gandalf was still alive, Harry was sure the old wizard would have an answer.

But for now, Harry decided to dismiss all this tiresome thinking and concentrate on finding the others, who seemed to have disappeared. Either that or Harry had flown over them without knowing. He could just imagine Gimli, agitated, waving his axe in the air to get Harry's attention, while Harry flew on, unknowing, a stupid smile on his face . . .

Harry halted his Firebolt once more and scanned the surroundings below him. All he could see were the usual rolling hills with bits of boulders stuck half in half out of them. Sometimes he could see a small cliff-like creation that was only sixteen or so feet high, but still carpeted heavily with grass, and —

Harry peered.

_Was that movement on the little bluff?_

"Yes!" he shouted triumphantly, and then mumbled, almost as an afterthought, "stupid elven cloaks."

In no time flat Harry found himself standing on the ground beside the others (with his good foot, using his Firebolt as a sort of staff/cane) and explaining the conversation he'd had with Merry and Pippin.

"It is true their pace has quickened," Aragorn was now saying, stroking his chin a bit.

"How did you —?" Harry began, flummoxed.

"Rangers are knowledgeable in most areas and hopeless in others," returned Aragorn, as if that explained everything. Then he seemed to stare off in the distance, as though seeing something only rangers could see.

"Right," Harry said, and blinked. "What do we do now?"

"We will go after them, of course!" exclaimed Boromir, looking at Harry as though he thought the boy was stupid to even ask. "Our little friends should not be allowed to suffer for more than they do already."

"Then what are we waiting for?" growled Gimli, his eyes glittering.

"Rest," explained Aragorn patiently. "We have journeyed far and my legs are tired and my soul is wearisome. We should eat and drink plenty also. We shall need it to endure the rest of the day."

Everyone agreed this was a very good idea, though Harry couldn't help noticing that Legolas didn't look the least bit tired.

After feasting (if a couple of bites of _lembas_ bread and a few swallows of water counted as feasting) they set off again. They ran (or flew) onwards, with Aragorn tracking the ground and a few times lying flat on it to listen to the Uruk-hai footsteps that caused faint vibrations in the earth. A couple times they would stop, also, to see where the Uruk-hai currently were compared to themselves. The only people who could actually do this were Legolas (with his elven eyesight) Harry, (who would sometimes fly a mile or two ahead or really high up) and Aragorn (whom Harry had given his Omnioculars to).

When nightfall came they rested for a couple of hours of shut-eye, with Harry standing or rather sitting guard because he was the least tired of the lot, before they set off again. Harry was extremely grateful to have his Firebolt with him, as he knew he wouldn't have been able to keep pace with the others if he hadn't. As it was, just looking at Gimli weighted down with an assortment of heavy weapons, armour, and chain mail, but still trudging proudly onwards, made him feel tremendously weary.

The next day, sometime in the late morning, they came upon dry looking plains that extended further than human and even elven eyes could see.

"Home of the Horse Masters," muttered Boromir.

There was silence in the empty fields as Aragorn once again bent to lie flat, pressing his ear onto the ground.

Harry, who was hovering about ten meters up in the air, and so, wasn't hampered by normal human or elven height (which couldn't see over the slight incline that rested before them), began: "Erm . . . Aragorn?"

Aragorn gestured for Harry to be quite and pressed himself even more into the ground.

"It's just that —"

"_Shh_," hissed Gimli flapping a gloved hand. "He's hearing something!"

"Yeah I know, I wanted to tell you —"

"Riders!" Aragorn suddenly cried, shooting up to his feet. "Many riders on swift steeds are coming towards us!"

At this, Legolas immediately ran up the short hill.

"That's what I've been trying . . . never mind," said Harry, and he floated up several more meters in order to see better.

"Yes!" said Legolas now, after having reached the top of the hill. "There are one hundred and five. Yellow is their hair, and bright are their spears. Their leader is very tall."

"You see all that?" Harry asked in amazement, coming to hover head-height beside Legolas. All he'd seen was a bunch of shiny glinting metal stuff positioned on, what he assumed, was horses. He had only guessed that it was a group of people.

Aragorn came to stand on the hill beside them, Boromir and Gimli following. "Keen are the eyes of the Elves," he said, smiling. Then he placed the Omnioculars that hung around his neck over his eyes and scanned the horizon.

"The riders are a little more than five leagues distant," said Legolas, turning to watch Aragorn with a small smile.

Gimli humped. "Five leagues or one, we cannot escape them in this bare land. Shall we wait for them here or go on our way?"

"We will wait," said Aragorn, not taking his gaze from between the lenses of Harry's Omniocluars. "I am weary, and no doubt you all are as well."

"The riders would surely have passed the Uruk-hai," Boromir suggested. "Theoden King does not allow foul creatures to roam his lands unchecked. If the riders are coming towards us, they surely would have slaughtered every Uruk ere they came this way, which means that Merry and Pippin must be safe."

"I see no hobbits," said Legolas and Aragorn together.

"But I do not doubt you," Aragorn continued, letting the Omnioculars rest back on his chest. He turned to Boromir. "We shall have to wait here. Behind that boulder would be a good place to hide." He pointed to a large protruding boulder a few meters away. "Then we shall see if they are friendly folk or ones we need to raise swords against, though I do not believe it to be the latter."

Some time later they still sat behind the boulder, shifting uncomfortably on the hard ground. There had been a bit of an issue of what to do with Harry, seeing as he couldn't walk towards the riders, and nobody had wanted the riders to see Harry actually flying on a piece of wood used for sweeping ("They will surely think some evil sorcery abounds!" Boromir had said.) In the end, (no matter if Harry suggested more than once that he could just become invisible) it was decided that Harry should remain behind the boulder, and should only show his presence if the others were in dire need of it.

Harry did not much like this option, but he had given Gimli one part of an Extendable Ear and told him to hide it in his beard, while he kept the other half. It had taken at least ten minutes of explanation about what the Extendable Ears were used for, their purpose, their make-up, etc, until Gimli inclined to except his Ear and to tie it in the middle of his beard before concealing the Ear by draping more beard over it, so the end result indicated there was nothing to be seen.

"We can talk to each other through these as well," Harry told him now. Then he paused. "Maybe I should have given Merry and Pippin one."

"We cannot all be as fast in wit as dwarves, laddie" Gimli informed, and patted him kindly on the shoulder.

"Ah!" said Boromir suddenly. "Hear you that?"

Everyone besides Legolas, who must have already heard long before now, tuned their ears' attentions on the fast approaching galloping sound.

"The horsemen approach!" Boromir continued.

They weren't just approaching, they were already upon them. A great galloping, crying, ferocious, and snorting hoard they were; the horses' hoofs sounded like thunder on the dry earth.

Aragorn leapt from behind the rock and ran after the passing horsemen, the rest following.

"Riders of Rohan, what news from the North?" he shouted. He had placed his hand in a casual way on the base of his sword

Harry poked his head a little ways from behind the rock in time to see the entire one hundred and five golden-haired warriors ride back and encircle his friends, pointing their long spears at them so threateningly, that they could hardly move for fear of getting pierced.

Aragorn placed both hands up in an offering off peace, but Harry clenched a hand around his wand, his heart thundering.

A deep voice spoke from the hoard, Harry listening through the Extendables. "What business do two men, an, elf, and a dwarf have in the Riddermark?"

When no one said anything a rider came forward. "Speak quickly!" he ordered.

"We track a party of Uruk-hai westward across the plain. They have taken two of our friends captive." Harry might have imagined it, but he thought Aragorn's voice broke a little at the end. "We are friends to Theoden and to his people."

Harry sat back around the boulder and leaned against it when his ankle began to pain him. Unfortunately this meant he could no longer see anything, but at least he could hear.

"Theoden no longer recognises friend from foe," said the stranger. "Not even his —_shhcrkkk_! _Crackle. Crackle_. _Clang_!"

Harry stared at the Ear in his hand, shocked.

_What in Merlin's beard was that sound?_

". . . he walks in the woods they say —" cr_aaaaaaaaa_ccckkle! _Shwoosh. Swish. Shwoosh_.

_What the . . . ?_

Harry gave the Ear in his hand a little shake.

"Give me your name Horse Master, and I shall give you mine!" declared Gimli proudly.

Must have been a spur of the moment sort of thing, thought Harry, not sure whether he was commenting on the strange sound, or what Gimli had said.

"I would cut off your head, dwarf!" spat the stranger. "If it stood but a little higher from the ground!"

"You will die before —"

Legolas's voice was cut off as, once again, the strange crackling sound appeared. From then on, much to Harry's furious irritation, the sound came almost constantly, and, on occasion, the only distinguishable thing Harry could hear was, "slaughtered during the night", "Arod!" and, "It has forsaken these lands". By the time the others came back around the boulder, this time with two horses trotting behind them, Harry was fully convinced that whatever the strange sound had been was entirely Gimli's fault, and as soon as the dwarf came into view Harry (much to Gimli's alarm) pounced with his good foot, lifting the dwarf's beard so that the Ear came into view. And he finally realised what that annoying sound had been.

The "crackles" and the "swishy swooshy-ing" had been Gimli's hairy beard brushing up against the Ear, and the "clang" had been the Ear banging on Gimli's armour.

The dwarf was sputtering now as Harry untied the Ear from his beard. Everyone else looked on in amusement.

"Sorry," Harry said, realising he'd embarrassed the red-faced dwarf. "But the stupid thing would only pick up the sounds nearest to it. Like, your beard for instance. I could barely hear what was being said."

Boromir coughed politely into his hand.

Gimli harrumphed and muttered under his breath, trying to pretend he wasn't blushing, and then said very gruffly. "We should be off Aragorn. The hobbits are waiting!"

After that, everyone just decided to forget the incident.

A short while later after explaining everything to Harry they mounted their transports (Legolas and Gimli on one horse, Aragorn and Boromir on the other, and Harry flying beside them) and they thundered, (or whooshed) across the plains until the pile of orc carcasses came into view. Everyone except Harry dismounted and started picking their way through the burnt up flesh.

Harry came to hover by Gimli as he scrounged through the pile of burnt bodies, finally unearthing something. "It's one of their wee belts," he said, looking up at Harry, then at the others with a sort of questioning stare.

Harry suddenly had to fight a hotness behind his eyes. Merry and Pippin couldn't be dead, they just couldn't! He had spoken to them not even a day ago.

Aragorn sank to his knees and let out such a deep howl of anguish and grief, and Boromir and Legolas just looked so shocked, as if they couldn't comprehend that the hobbits might actually be gone. Seeing them, Harry finally allowed the tear to trickle down his cheek.

"A hobbit lay here," Aragorn said eventually, palming the grass at his feet. "And the other."

Harry felt like yelling — _who_ _cares if hobbits lay there, their not laying there anymore!_

But as soon as he had the thought he was ashamed to have considered it.

"They crawled," Aragorn continued, standing up to follow the trail. "They were followed."

His voice began to get hopeful, and Harry couldn't help but think — _is it possible?_

"Their hands were bound," said Aragorn, examining the ground. He bent down to pick something up and produced a rope, covered in dried grass. "Their bonds were cut!" he said half surprised half excitedly, lurching forwards.

The rest followed, just as excited.

"They ran," said Aragorn, coming to a stop, "into Fangorn Forest."

"Fangorn," breathed Gimli. "What madness drove them in there?"

Before anyone could answer a shrill screech sounded from above them.

Harry's heart lifted, he knew that sound!

Everyone looked up, including Harry.

"Hedwig!" he cried. The bird was flapping furiously in their direction, a piece of parchment tied to her leg. Harry felt like an ice cube had dropped into his stomach. Why would Frodo and Sam write to them now, so shortly after having left?

Harry forced himself to wait until Hedwig came to a final flap, perching on the end of his broom.

Harry hugged her to him as the others crowded around below. Thinking it would be rude to just float above their heads like this when they were so obviously interested in what the letter held, Harry lowered himself until he was about waist high.

"Why would they send Hedwig now?" asked Legolas, worry briefly flashing across his face. "Surely something has not happened?"

"I don't know," mumbled Harry. "But we're going to find out."

He untied the piece of parchment from around Hedwig's leg and opened it.

Harry clutched the paper tightly in his hands. "Damn it!" he said, and the others jerked forward.

"What does it say?" they all demanded to know.

"I've no idea," Harry moaned, frustrated. "It's all gibberish! I forgot that I can't read it!"

Aragorn laughed weakly and shot Harry a narrowed look that involved a little head-shaking, before plucking the parchment out of the wizard's hand and scanning it. The others crowded around him.

"Ai!" said Legolas. "That Gollum has found them!"

"The creature that escaped two score of elven folk?" said Gimli a bit cheekily.

Legolas ignored him.

"They are using him as a guide through Mordor!" said Boromir, shock evident in his tone. "Are they mad?"

"They are hobbits," returned Aragorn. "We shall have to hope that their judgment be good on this." He folded the parchment and stuffed it inside his tunic. "But now we go yonder into the forest."

"Hang on, shouldn't we write back?" Harry asked.

Aragorn didn't even hesitate. "Aye. They will wish to know they are not alone in this, and that we consent their decision."

"Right," Harry said. Then he un-pocketed his trunk, dropped it on the ground and enlarged it. When he found the ink, parchment, and quill, he gave it to Aragorn and the ranger proceeded to write. When he finished he tied the letter around Hedwig's leg, just as he had seen Harry do.

"Frodo and Sam," Aragorn told Hedwig, throwing Harry a questioning look.

Harry nodded.

Then they all waited.

And waited.

Hedwig wasn't moving off the end of his broom.

"What is it Hedwig?" Harry asked, suddenly afraid she might be ill. "Are you —?"

Hedwig screeched at him indignantly.

"Sorry, I forgot." Harry grumbled hastily, finally realising what Hedwig wanted. His cheeks pinkened as he saw that everyone else had seen, and been amused by, how his owl had reprimanded him.

He rummaged through his trunk until he found the owl treats. He gave Hedwig a few and she munched happily for a minutes before shooting into the air.

"Good luck!" Harry yelled after her. "She'll be fine," he told the others. "The hobbits will be fine with Hedwig looking after them, too. She's very territorial."

Aragorn nodded, his eyes shining. "Come!" he called, and with strangely heavy and excited hearts they followed him into Fangorn.

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Review Please.


	11. There, and Back Again?

Disclaimer: _Harry Potter_ remains the property of J.K. Rowling and any other publishers or organisations which I don't know, but don't want to anger. _The Lord of the Rings_ belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien. I am not making any profit whatsoever in writing this story. I write it purely for the sake of my own and others enjoyment.

A/N: Thanks to all the people who to took the time to review. You make my day.

YEAH! I finished my exams. Finally!

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**Chapter Eleven: There, and Back Again?**

Fangorn forest, at first glance, appeared to look normal, if a little claustrophobic. It had lush trees, which most forests held. It had little streamlets running along here and there, and it had mulch on the ground. It looked like an ordinary forest, yet it wasn't. Harry had felt something was off as soon as he'd stepped inside, and when his wand started twitching in his pocket he'd known he was right. There was magic in the air. It was a magical forest. Probably had a holly tree somewhere within its borders. Harry doubted his wand would work.

That was a day ago. Now he, Gimli, and Legolas were all gathered around a cheerful fire which they'd built in a little hollow. Gimli was sharpening his axe with a smooth rock he'd found along the way and Legolas was stretched out on the ground, his elegant hands folded across his chest. He was sleeping, or something like it. Aragorn and Boromir had gone off to hunt for rabbit, and would probably be back soon.

Harry was staring down at his one shoe, which had become a bit the worse for wear since he'd been walking a lot up until a few days ago. His Firebolt lay beside him. He desperately felt like polishing it, (it had gotten dusty from all the flying he'd been doing) but that would require unshrinking his trunk to get out the Broomstick Servicing Kit, and he didn't want to risk any magic in case something went wonky.

"Do you think we'll find Merry and Pippin?" Harry whispered to Gimli, if for no other reason then to break the stillness of the night gloom that penetrated the encased hollow.

The scraping noise of rock sliding against metal stopped as Gimli looked up at him with knowing brown eyes. "You believe tis your fault that the two hobbits are lost?" he whispered back slyly, and Harry could feel his cheeks turning hot.

"Er," he said, momentarily stumped.

"Aye," Gimli gruffed, his eyes flickering over Harry's face, "you do."

"I can't help it," Harry said, waving his hand in frustration. "I was right there! I was actually talking to them. I could've done something to help them. I could have levitated them, or, or done something. I could've given them an Ear!"

Gimli humped, a faint tint of colour appearing on his cheeks, for he had not forgotten about the Ear incident. "Think you an ear would save them from the Uruk-hai?"

Put like that, it sounded absurd. Harry suddenly had an image of Merry and Pippin crouching behind a gigantic ear which was hopping furiously after a group fleeing Uruk-hai, who all had looks of terror on their faces. But Harry still wasn't sure whether or not Gimli was joking with the question. Though, he suspected the latter.

"These creatures are vicious and bloodthirsty mutilations of Saruman and his wicked magic," Gimli continued, confirming Harry's suspicions. "Hither and thither they traipse on the soft earth, eating the flesh of men and hobbits and elven folk; and most times eating the flesh of their own kind when there is none other available for them to gnaw!"

Harry grimaced at the imagery that Gimli spouted, reminding himself that it was common to speak thus in Middle Earth. _I'm even starting to think like them. _He expelled a breath. "That's not the point, Gimli. I mean, I understand what you're trying to say, but, I would've heard Merry and Pippin yelling for help if I'd have given them an Ear."

Gimli sighed gruffly and plonked his axe down beside his belongings, then he leaned forward slightly and pierced Harry with a hard stare. "I have seen you do a great many wondrous feats that I or any dwarf have never imagined. No elf or wizard, or any Maia for that matter, could match you in strength, and Sauron would be wise to fear the power that you wield; the power that you wield as easily as dwarves dig. You have no cause to be feeling sorry. For yourself or the young hobbits. You did what you could. You followed Aragorn's command. And yes, he has not all the knowledge of everything you can do, and, I admit, that hinders his judgment, but you are also a child — and do not say you are not!" Gimli reprimanded when Harry opened his mouth. "You _are_ a child lad, and can be forgiven for not knowing what to do, or how to think, or how to act in dire circumstances."

Harry blinked, but Gimli continued, "Ought a few spells make a wizard?" he said, his steely gaze seeming as if it could look into Harry's very soul. "Or is it the courage to do what is wise or what is not wise? You could not have known that the Uruk-hai would encounter the Rohirrim. How could you have known that the hobbits would escape, blundering blindly into the wilds of ancient Fangorn, hunted by an orc? You may be a wizard but you are no seer!"

Then Gimli pulled out a pipe from beneath his mantle, took a small stick from the fire, and lit it.

All Harry could do was stare incredulously at the puffing dwarf who had suddenly displayed so much insight. But at the same time Harry wanted to shout and tell him it hadn't been wisdom, it'd had been pure forgetfulness on his part, and a lack of common sense.

"Think on that lad," Gimli added from between piped teeth, before staring off into the flames.

Quite against his will, Harry did, reluctantly, think on it. Gimli's Professor-like words, so unbiased, so neutral, made him feel ashamed. Ashamed that he had only been looking, if subconsciously, for someone to tell him that he'd done the right thing by Merry and Pippin. He hadn't wanted to feel guilty anymore so he'd looked to Gimli to tell him he wasn't. But the dwarf had been too wily. He'd seen right through.

"Thanks," Harry told him softly, ducking his head to stare at his shoe. Dimly, he noticed his shoelace was untied.

"Gimli son of Gloin is always at your service if you would but accept him," Gimli announced importantly and with what seemed a little hint of an irritated prod, as though he wanted Harry to finally reciprocate in the same way. Harry looked up just in time to see the dwarf bob his head.

"O-of course I'll accept him," Harry caught on, feeling it was appropriate to make a little bob of his own. "And I'll be honoured if Gimli son of Gloin would accept Harry James Potter at his service."

Gimli chuckled mightily and suddenly thumped Harry hard on the back with a leather-gloved hand so that his body jerked forward alarmingly close the fire. "You're learning lad, you're learning!" and amidst the light coughing he'd been forced to participate in, an emotion that felt suspiciously like a mixture of pride and happiness rose up in Harry. Without knowing how or why, he'd earned a special, if unconventional, friend in Gimli.

That night they all had roasted rabbit for dinner. Aragorn had also managed to scrounge up some wild berries that Harry was positive held a dubious nature, but after seeing everyone else tucking in quite vigorously Harry decided he'd best stop hesitating and do the same — that is, until, he'd discovered some sort of squishy bug in his that looked like a cross between a small cockroach and a maggot. After that he'd decided to forgoe eating the berries, promptly excused himself, and made his way to the back of a tree some distance from the campfire.

His stomach feeling slightly less fuller than before, though refreshingly empty at the same time, Harry flew back to his companions and almost lazily stumbled off his broom, coming to sit in a small hazy _plonk_ on his blanket. Then he stretched out on his back and closed his eyes, thinking it pleasant to fall asleep with the sound of Legolas' deep melodic voice wafting through the air in a mournful elvish tune. Of course Harry did not know what the song meant, but he had gotten used the elf's singing and found that it lulled him to sleep almost immediately.

A lazy smile on his face, Harry finally succumbed to his dreams.

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Through the pipe smoke curling about his face Aragorn could see that their youngest companion had fallen asleep at last. With his broken ankle most likely paining him and sapping his strength throughout the day, Aragorn had to wonder how Harry could have coped staying awake for so long.

_Because he is a wizard? _The Ranger thought.

He was an enigma, to be sure, but Aragorn had long stopped wondering about him, feeling it less stressing to just accept the young wizard as he was. The fact that he did not understand many of the things Harry could do, or many of the things Harry would say, also helped to dispel any pondering he might be curious to do.

His lip curled fondly at the snore that suddenly sounded from Harry's mouth. It seemed all wizards were the same, no matter what world they were born to.

A movement at the corner of his eye brought his attention to Boromir who had straightened from his seat across the dying fire, and was frowning lightly at Harry. Knowing what would happen next, but still determined to observe, Aragorn watched as Boromir moved to kneel quietly by Harry's side.

Shaking his head almost paternally, he gently lifted the boy's blanket from beneath his feet and draped it over him, finishing by tucking the blanket in at the sides. Straightening, his eyes met Aragorn's from across the fire, glowing like yellow jewels, courtesy of the orange flames. Aragorn grinned widely and tipped his pipe at him, feeling just short of chuckling.

Looking a little uncomfortable, Boromir offered him a shaky smile, shrugged, and made his way back to his blanket where he lay down to fall asleep to Legolas' voice.

Aragorn resumed his puffing, staring into the fire before him.

Boromir, whether Harry noticed or not, had been acting very peculiar of late. Ever since Harry had rescued the eldest son of Denethor by a demonstration of very odd healing magic, and "summoning" the orc arrows into his hand, Boromir, with no such words or implications, had labelled himself as Harry's protector.

But actions, Aragorn had found, speak louder than words, and Boromir's actions revealed the fatherly feelings Aragorn knew he was harbouring toward the young spell-caster. Aragorn suspected that Boromir did not mind these feelings, in fact, he was fairly certain Boromir would have felt them even if they were all still under the false knowledge that Harry was three hundred years old, which would have made him older than Boromir and Aragorn combined.

In fact, Harry had earned a place in all of their hearts. Gimli especially had managed to make a very good friend in Harry, and Aragorn had often seen them exchanging long words and smatterings of laughter at night. With Legolas Harry had not laid bare his feelings and thoughts as much, and it saddened Aragorn to know the reason was because Legolas was an elf.

Oh, Aragorn knew Harry considered Legolas a friend, at last, but there was still just that touch of uncomfortableness, that hint of not opening up as much, and Aragorn was not blind to see that Legolas had sensed it as well. Elves were far more intuitive than mortals after all.

In spite of this the elf was not offended, knowing that the reason laid more in the way of Haldir and several of the Lothlorien folk than anything Legolas had done. But elves were known for their patience, too, so Legolas would wait until Harry was more at ease with him. The songs he sang at night helped, as did his very nature. Nobody could find disfavour with Legolas for long; he was too kind an elf for that.

Legolas' singing ended abruptly, forcing Aragorn out of his reverie.

"Aragorn, nan na edas," said the elf softly, yet forcefully.

Aragorn sat up and quickly extinguished his pipe by banging it against the palm of his hand.

"What do you see?" Aragorn asked quickly.

"A white shadow moving against the trees," Legolas replied. He had straightened up also, and his eyes appeared as twin pricks of blue ice in the darkness. "The cloth of which whispers in the dark."

"Eru," sighed Aragorn. "We must be quiet," he told Boromir and Gimli, who had just woken up from the light drift they had been in.

"What of the lad?" Gimli whispered, gesturing to the snoring Harry.

Aragorn frowned and sighed. "Let us hope that the white shadow, whatever it is, though I am sure we all suspect it is Saruman, will think the noise to be a tree. They seem to have minds of their own in this forest."

"Why not wake him?" asked Boromir.

"I do not want to think of the consequences of two very powerful wizards, with two very different yet potent magics, meeting in combat, Boromir," Aragorn told him, and the others nodded in agreement. "Besides, I fear that Harry's magic may not be keen to perform in this forest, just as it did not perform in front of the Mines of Moria. Have you seen him use his wand at all since we have entered here? I suspect there is something of a magical nature in Fangorn, or else we are too close to Isenguard and Saruman's heinous magic is effecting his own."

"He still flies his broomstick," Gimli pointed out with all the stubbornness of the dwarves.

"Aye, that he does," Aragorn sighed. "I know not why this is so, but it could be because the enchantment was laid upon it beforehand. Although, I am not certain. Knowledge in the ways of wizards, above all wizards that hail from other worlds, is not part of my skills as a ranger."

"It does not matter," Legolas said, his head cocking to the side. "The white shadow is gone. I hear it no more, and my eyes are only filled with the sight of trees and nothing else."

"Nonetheless, we should keep a watch tonight. I will go first. Gimli will guard from midnight to morn, or thereabouts; shorter if I am not as weary."

"Just nudge me," Gimli told him, and plonked down upon his blanket. "But right now I go to the land of small hairy women, and jewels the size of swords hilts."

Taking in his companion's soft laughter, which was just the response he'd been hoping for, Gimli snorted gruffly, threw the rough blanket over himself so that it covered the top of his head, and hunkered down to sleep.

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The next morning the group of five ventured deeper into Fangorn Forest. They passed hollows that were tightly enclosed about with creaking trees. They skirted over little streams and rotted logs overgrown with damp moss. (Gimli had slipped on that last one and only Boromir's quick sword arm had managed to dissuade the dwarf from plummeting headfirst into a mud puddle). Bushes that, more often than not, displayed bent twigs and a dashing of orc blood told them that the hobbits and their pursuer had come this way. Aragorn was prone to suddenly stop the group with a back of a silent hand and crouch to the ground, examining it gently with experienced fingers. Then he'd jump up and say "This way!" in a quiet whisper that nevertheless seemed to echo inside the still forest as though he had screamed it.

Harry's Firebolt had been doing the same thing. The light _whooshing_ noise that he'd come to associate with his broom suddenly seemed to be a lot heavier and could be heard much more clearly. He'd offered to fly up to skirt the tops of the trees but Aragorn hadn't let him, saying that it would be wise to travel as a group now that they didn't know what else was out there. He'd also mumbled something about Isenguard (which Harry knew was very close to Fangorn and was also where the evil wizard Saruman lived) so Harry didn't think to argue.

Eventually, they came upon a bit of Fangorn that was so enclosed, and the trees so tightly placed together, that it became somewhat difficult for Harry to manoeuvre around all the twisting, outstretched branches. Instead, he'd taken to going over or under some of them, once hitting his head on protruding knob, another time accidentally poking Legolas in the face with the tail-end of his broom. The elf had sputtered, and Harry had apologised immediately, but even now, half an hour later, he was sure he'd spotted Legolas discretely spitting a bit of broom-tail from out of his mouth.

"Hold," Aragorn said now, again lifting up a hand.

They had come to yet another stream, though this one appeared a lot bigger than the others they'd passed.

Aragorn crouched down and observed the soft muddy bank near the water and even Harry, with his unexperienced eyes, could see that someone had stepped in it.

"This is good tidings," said Aragorn, his gaze not leaving the markings on the ground. "The hobbits have drunk the water and bathed their feet. Yet the marks are two days old. And it seems that at this point Merry and Pippin left the water-side. From then it is difficult to follow their steps. They are light and the wetness on their feet has long disappeared. The dried grass has soaked it all."

"Then what shall we do now?" asked Gimli, scratching his bearded chin with the tip of his axe. "We cannot pursue them through the whole fastness of Fangorn. Even Harry could not do it, for unlike the plains of Rohan, he cannot fly up to spot the hobbits in the distance like a hawk. The trees here are so close together that not even an elf would see through if he was to peer down at them from a great height.

"But if we do not find the hobbits soon, we shall be of no use to them, except to sit down beside them and show our friendship by starving together," Gimli finished.

"If that is indeed all we can do, then we must do that," said Aragorn with a bite of impatience. "Let us go on."

They continued onward with the scenery not changing much at all, until Harry, who'd taken to hazing out, suddenly found himself in front of a steep hill of rock that looked more like a diagonal wall than an actual hill. Looking up, Harry could see that the hill extended to a height above the trees, and that by the time they had reached it, the forest had thinned out a bit. It seemed like they had finally found an open space in Fangorn.

The others had already stopped beside him.

"Let us go up and look about us!" said Legolas, scanning the surface of rock. "I should like to taste a freer air for a while."

With that said he placed one foot in a small crease in the rock, and one hand in an indent a little higher than his head, and fairly flew up the surface, rather like a monkey. In no time he was at the top and staring down at them all.

"Come!" he gestured, his long golden hair falling over his shoulders like some mystical waterfall. Then he straightened up and examined the expanse of forest in front of him.

All Harry could think was that Legolas would make a really good Quidditch player if he was a wizard.

_He'd make an even better seeker, with that eyesight of his._

The rest scrambled (or flew) up the hill until even Harry was standing with his one good leg on the patch of flatness on top of the mound. He leaned on his Firebolt for balance as he scanned the surrounding trees. Not that he found anything except more trees.

"I am almost sure that the hobbits have been up here," said Aragorn, drawing Harry's attention. He was once again inspecting the ground, smoothing over bits of dried grass with the palm of his hand. "But there are other marks here. Very strange marks . . ."

He sighed, stood up again, and looked about.

"We have journeyed the long way around," Legolas said solemnly, glancing apologetically at them, as though he thought it was his fault for having to tell them.

"What?" Harry groaned.

"Well, we could not have taken any other way," Boromir said unconcernedly, shading a hand over his brow as he glanced around at the forest. "All we could have done is to follow the Ranger. And all the Ranger could have done is to follow the markings the hobbits left behind."

"We could have all come here safe together," Legolas argued, "if we had left the Great River on the second or third day and struck west. Few can foresee whither their road will lead them, till they come to its end."

"But we had planed to take the road Frodo and Sam are journeying now. We did not wish to come to Fangorn," Gimli protested with the air of one who was explaining something complicated to a small child.

"Yet here we are — and nicely caught in the net," snapped Legolas. A pained frown crossed his brow and his eyes looked curiously for a second, staring at something in the distance. Suddenly they grew wide and he pointed sharply in front. "Look!"

Harry whipped around just as Gimli said, "Look at what?"

"There in the trees!"

"Where?" Gimli growled. "I have not elf-eyes."

"Hush! Speak more softly! Look!" said Legolas again, pointing. "Down in the wood, back in the way that we have just come. It is he. Cannot you see him, passing from tree to tree?"

"Saruman," Aragorn whispered and everyone placed hands on their weapons. "Turn around and draw your weapons. Do not let him speak. He will put a spell on us."

Harry's heart thumped loudly in his ears as he mimicked everyone else's movements and drew his wand from out of his pocket.

Saruman.

What did he really know about this wizard? For that matter, what did he really know about wizard-magic in Middle Earth? According to Gimli, he shouldn't be afraid of Saruman because his magic was less powerful than Harry's own. But what did a dwarf know about magic?

The bottom dropped out of Harry's stomach as he suddenly remembered something horrible, something he had forgotten in all the excitement. He looked down at his faithful wand clutched tightly in his hand. His knuckles appeared horribly white against the black wood. His wand had never failed to deliver magic before he had come to Middle Earth. Did it even work?

_Maybe it does?_ he thought hopefully. _I'm not technically in the forest anymore. I'm on top of it._

It could be true. His wand wasn't shaking anymore, after all.

His spirits lifted slightly at acknowledging that fact.

There was a shuffling behind them and Harry knew that Saruman had finally come to stand at the bottom of the hill. The knowledge that he was looking up at them now caused Harry to shiver.

"We must be quick," whispered Aragorn beside him, breathing deep. "Now!"

They whirled as one.

Gimli didn't waste anytime and chucked his axe down in a perfect line straight at the white brightness that was Saruman. The wizard brought up his staff as the axe was about to imbed into his skull and _BANG!_ It shattered in a million pieces before it even made contact.

Horrified and confused at the power that the White Wizard wielded so easily, they hesitated for a split second before _twang!_ Legolas had released his arrow, but the same thing happened as with Gimli's axe, and the thin shaft exploded in loads of tiny wooden splinters.

"Harry!" Aragorn shouted and The-Boy-Who-Lived turned and saw that his and Boromir's swords had turned molten hot — they'd been forced to drop them.

Seeing that he was the only one who still had a useable weapon, and one that was full of magic, he spun back to the bright vision below him (that appeared to be getting brighter by the second) before "STUPEFY!" he yelled in his loudest voice, putting as much power behind the spell as he could.

The next couple of seconds appeared as if in slow motion.

The jet of red light erupted from Harry's wand in a great, electric _boom_ that seemed to shake the trees of the forest and the very earth on which Harry stood. It travelled down in a perfect line straight toward the incredibly bright light that emanated from the old wizard. Harry, his hopes rising along with the beat of his heart, watched as the red light made contact with the white light.

The subsequent explosion ricocheted back at both Saruman and Harry. And Harry, who had not been expecting this, had no time to move as his own spell and something else, which he suspected might be Saruman's magic, made painful contact with his chest and blasted him into the air, off the hill, and over the trees in a high arch.

Then he was falling, falling, and falling . . .

The only consolation Harry had as blackness took him, was that Saruman had been visited with the same fate.

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"Do you think he's really alright? I mean, he did get hit pretty hard on the head."

"Bludgers've given Harry a harder knock then, well, whatever it was that hit him this time . . . And would you stop clutching my arm, Hermione, you're cutting off my circulation!"

"Sorry."

"Still, that's one heck of a nasty —"

"Hey look, I think he's waking up!"

"SOMEONE GET A HEALER!"

_SMACK!_

"Ouch! _Hermione!_ Blimey that smarted!"

"Shut up Ron! Can't you see your shouting's hurting him?"

A lot of red blurred in front of Harry's eyes as he forced himself to open them, painfully.

"Gimli?" he mumbled.

"What did he say?" whispered a furious voice.

"Something about a Gumble, whatever that is."

"George go get a Gumbl — I mean healer!"

There was a scramble of footsteps and several loud thumps.

"Mmmggrph."

"What was that, Harry?"

"Move Ron, let him breath!"

_Thwack!_

"Ouch Hermione!"

"Now, what did you say Harry?"

"M'hurts."

"He's hurting!" a shrill voice screeched.

A loud bang suddenly sounded and a stern voice ordered, "What are you lot doing hanging over him? He needs rest —"

"Please Healer Puttergill, Harry's just woken up, and we were —"

"_What?" _There was another scramble and Harry felt something cold touch his forehead. "Merlin's Beard, but does the boy have a temperature! Out everyone! Out now!"

"Really, it was Ron's fault Healer Puttergill —"

"What? No it wa —"

" — only five more minutes —"

" — we want to see how he is —"

Another bang as the door opened yet again.

"Is it true Healer Puttergill? Has Harry woken up?"

"Yes he has, thanks to this brood!"

"Oh my word!"

"Mrs Weasley, I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to leave and gather the youngsters up as you go, if you will. Harry will not be getting anymore visitors for a while."

"Oh, o-of course. Come along Fred and George, and the rest of you!"

"_Aww_ Mum —!"

"You heard Healer Puttergill. Now _move_!"

As the bang sounded for what seemed the millionth time, Harry sank back into blissful oblivion.

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A/N: Think whatever you like of this, I will not say anything snickers.

And to answer the question about Legolas and Harry and whether they're going to end up together. I'm sorry to disappoint everyone who likes that pairing, but they're not. There's going to be no romance in this story. Again I say sorry.

However, if anyone really wants to read a romance story I've started one with Sirius and an OC. Admittedly it's not slash, but it is a fun sort of story and not that serious. So if you want to check it out . . .

AND MOST IMPORTANTLY – Don't forget to review please!


	12. The Enlightening Discussion

Disclaimer: _Harry Potter_ remains the property of J.K. Rowling and any other publishers or organisations which I don't know, but don't want to anger. _The Lord of the Rings_ belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien. I am not making any profit whatsoever in writing this story. I write it purely for the sake of my own and others enjoyment.

A/N: Thanks to everyone who reviewed.

**IMPORTANT!** There are spoilers for HBP in this chapter. If you haven't read it, enter at your risk.

I'm also dedicating this chapter to my cousin, Cinder. He knows the reason.

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**Chapter Twelve: The Enlightening Discussion**

In the confusion that transpired between the spells that had simultaneously thrown their recipients backwards, Gimli found himself leaping (something that dwarves did not do if they could help it) from the high mound of rock along with the others as it shook and threatened to fall in on itself.

He fell on his buttocks — hard; rolled over, and saw the elf land next to him on his two graceful legs, the likes of which Gimli had come to seriously abhor throughout the length of their trek.

Walking on snow; running swift-footed on a rope that hung taughtly over swirling waters.

Climbing stone like an unnatural beast.

In this last attempt to sabotage dwarvish pride, the elf had leapt from the tower to look down on Gimli's sprawled form.

But never had the dwarf been so glad that Legolas was an elf. For Legolas now took up Gimli's arm and, displaying all the strength and skill and speed that his elvish heritage had no doubt bequeathed him, he hastened Gimli forward (most times lifting him bodily from the ground) before diving behind a large buttressed tree where Aragorn and Boromir had already taken shelter.

Behind him, Gimli could hear the mound of rock crumble at last. Feel the air and shards of stone strike the tree of which they all hid behind.

At last there was naught but silence in Fangorn, as there was always tend to be.

Aragorn sighed and straightened up from his spot against the tree. "We must find Harry, and Saruman. Wither they went I know not, but I thought I saw Harry go yonder." He stepped from behind the tree and pointed.

They followed his actions and saw that the direction in which Aragorn was pointing now lay behind the depressed, crumbled mound.

"Gimli and I will go and seek Harry," said Legolas, looking into Aragorn's eyes. "I will pray to Elbereth that he be unharmed."

Aragorn nodded. "Boromir and I will find Saruman. If his wizard rod is still within in his grasp the most we can hope is that he be wandering the land of dreams, whether they come to him or not."

"Aye," Boromir agreed. "Would that the power both wizards displayed is never again seen with mine waking eyes, and I shall be happy. But I know before this war is over I shall see more and not enough of it than I want to."

Aragorn placed a hand on Boromir's shoulder in comfort, nodded at Gimli and Legolas, and then the two men walked back whence they had all come from behind the tree, in search of Saruman.

"It is just you and I my dwarvish friend," Legolas smiled, looking down at Gimli.

"Aye," Gimli agreed. Though something was put upon him. He had a vague sense of discontent and he liked it not.

But the weather was pleasant and the task that loomed ahead of them encompassed their thoughts and Gimli's feeling of discontentment soon faded from his mind.

They dithered around aimlessly for a few yards that stretched from the crumbled mound. Legolas peered into the forest with his elf-eyes in hopes to spot a glimpse of a pale arm or a pointed wizard's hat; but none could he see.

"We will have to go deeper. The bushes and branches bar my sight. I cannot spot even a small bristle from his broom-end."

Gimli was not certain, but he thought Legolas spat something out of his mouth in that moment.

He grunted. "First we go to find the hobbits, and then we go to find the wizard. Before the end of this journey is come we will go to find ourselves!"

Legolas laughed.

They walked into the fleshier parts of Fangorn; and nothing could they see but more Fangorn. Gimli had the urge to throw his axe in frustration. Already it had been too long since Harry had been lost to them, and the thought that he, a boy, might be lying injured and alone on the cold forest floor with who knows what manner creatures about did not comfort them.

"How long have we been searching?" Gimli finally growled to Legolas.

"The better part of an hour," Legolas replied grimly.

"I do not believe that," was all Gimli said.

The elf smiled. "Indeed, it does not seem that way. But . . ." Legolas halted in mid-speak. He tilted his head on its side so that his fair hair shone brightly in the small patch of afternoon sun that seeped through the canopy. "Do you hear that? It sounds very like —"

". . . many times must I tell you?" a grumpy voice was grumbling. A very familiar voice. "I am fine, Boromir. The spell did naught but take breath from me. And you need not look as though I am the only one to have arisen from the dead. Recall if you will, Glorfindel?"

Seconds later a haggard looking figure in white — attached on either side of him an astonished Boromir and Aragorn — stumbled from around a moulded tree to stand in front of Gimli and Legolas.

"Elbereth," Legolas breathed and sank down on one knee. Gimli followed suit.

"How can this be?" he asked, certain his eyes were playing devil's tricks.

"As I have hastily explained to Aragorn and Boromir already, and in much fractured speech, I died and I was brought back until my task is done. I am Gandalf the White. Now get up." He sounded very irate. "We have another wizard to find. If I am not mistaken the combined spells have done more damage to him than they did me as he was thrown from the mound and across a large amount of trees, whereas I was already on the ground and have taken not as many bruises." He shuffled along in front of them.

"Ai!" Legolas cried out suddenly, causing the rest to stop and look at him. "He has a broken ankle!"

"All the more reason for us to hurry and find him," Gandalf said, hastening even more quickly along.

"We have tried," Gimli said. "We have not found a speck of anything. It is like he has vanished. Or else he has flown."

Gandalf wasn't listening. "I sense something," he mumbled, looking this way and that. "Some strange residue. It is magical in nature. It feels very like Harry." He froze suddenly and lifted his staff. "Hmm. . . I think . . . Yes, it's this way."

"I hope you are not going to say that you followed your nose, Gandalf. For I will not believe that," said Gimli, clutching his axe tightly.

Gandalf sighed exasperatedly. "You are surely worse than Peregrine Took, Gimli son of Gloin, when you want to be."

"And proud of it!" Gimli spat back. "Honourable folk, are hobbits. They run not from danger but charge into its fray. I have often thought that hobbits could be descendent from dwarves."

"Indeed," Gandalf said, but he did not appear to be listening.

Gimli grumbled to himself.

"Ahh!" Gandalf exclaimed after they had all walked a little more. "Look here." He reached up to a branch that hung over his head and pulled something from it.

"It is his cloak!" Boromir said, snatching it from Gandalf's grasp.

The wizard expelled an irritated breath.

"Alas that the wizard is not in it," Boromir continued, looking solemn.

Legolas lay a hand on his shoulder.

Gandalf moved forward, his face curious. He bent to the ground and then straightened. When he turned they saw a black pointed hat, now crooked, held in his hands.

"What means this?" Aragorn said.

Gandalf shook his head looking perplexed. "I don't know. Unless Harry has decided to have a mud bath in this accursed forest I cannot hope to know what these empty clothes mean."

"And look there!" Legolas exclaimed, pointing above them. On the topmost branches of the canopy, between sparkling beams of light, there hung Harry's robes; looking travel-stained, but none the worse for wear.

"Legolas, if you will?" Gandalf said.

The elf leaped onto the lowest branch of the nearest tree (which was easily six times Gimli's length when measured from the ground) then climbed the rest of the tree in all his effortless grace. When he reached the top he danced along the branches from tree to tree until he finally came upon the black robes. He unhooked them and let them float down. Gandalf caught them with the end of his staff.

In the middle of untangling the robes from his staff Gandalf paused. "What's this?" He reached a hand into the robe and pulled out —

"That is his crate!" Boromir said before anyone could comment.

"This is most odd," Gandalf mumbled before placing the crate back into the robes. "These are his things but there is no Harry around to claim them."

In the course of the next few minutes they found yet more things. Shoes (where Gimli, with his dwarvish curiosity of forging things, spent a while examining the metal buckles between the laces and wondering how such a craft was achieved); very short stockings of a most unusual shade and picturing (they all drew back in shock when the ducklings on the stockings started quacking); his "glasses" as Harry was want to call them (nothing unusual happened there); and they also found a pair of something that Gandalf mistook for a hat lurking in between the leaves. They was green, as were the leaves, so they had been hard to see at first, but upon feeling them and seeing the way they shone in the sunlight they could not see how Gandalf could have mistaken them for a hat. In the end, it was Legolas who worked out that they were some obscure form of undergarment.

"I have no doubt there are more items of Harry's sprayed about that we have overlooked," Gandalf commented once they had placed all of Harry's belongings together, "but we cannot search for them now. Already we are running late and must journey swiftly across the Entwash and to the Golden Hall of Meduseld — or as swiftly as our steeds dare take us. And yes, Boromir, that means we must abandon our search for Harry."

There was uproar.

"Be calm! Have you all forgotten that Harry is a wizard? If he is, as I assume, unconscious, we cannot wait until he awakens and comes looking for us. He has a flying broomstick, and no doubt other wizardly methods of finding his way." Gandalf paused to draw a breath. "We will leave his belongings here. He will want to clothe himself when he awakens. Let us be off."

Not wanting to anger an already irate wizard, and finding the situation hopeless, they set off to venture out of the depths of Fangorn, hoping, in their hearts, that the lost one in their company would soon come forth.

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When Harry's eyes opened the room was bright except for the small patch of shadow in the corner where a chair sat. From his position on the bed, Harry could see that it was not vacant. The edge of a violet silken robe hung over black polished, gold-buckled boots, and Harry knew who the person was without having to ask.

"I'm back, aren't I?"

It wasn't really so much as a question than an observation. Harry knew that he was back. A brief memory of the voices he heard from the last time he had woken passed through his mind. Ron and Hermione, Fred and George, Ginny and Mrs Weasely —and someone called Healer Puttergill.

He was in St Mungos.

Once more Harry perused the room. It looked bare of any essentials, except for a vase filled with flowers that stood on the cabinet by his bed. The room also held a distinctly hospitalised smell that reminded Harry of the infirmary at Hogwarts. It was not a smell that he had come to associate with a muggle hospital, but a smell that could be found only in a wizarding hospital. There was simply no smell at all in a wizarding hospital. Magic, he supposed, took care of any curious potion scents that would otherwise have filtered and clogged the lungs of sensitive patients.

Dumbledore answered, "Yes. Though I sense that this is somehow not a good thing."

He leaned forward now so that the gold twinkle from the edge of his half-moon glasses caught the light first, then the rest of his body followed. He looked so much like Gandalf in that instance, with his thinly veiled concern, that Harry had to repress a blur of tears that threatened to fall.

Harry shook his head. "Not really," was all he said. His voice trembled slightly, and Dumbledore noticed.

"You must tell me everything, Harry, and perhaps I can help you."

"You can't help me Professor — unless you somehow know how to send me back."

Harry did not know when he had decided that he didn't want to be here but back in Middle Earth, wishing he had never left. It seemed to him that he had not decided at all, but that it had already been decided for him, before he had even awakened.

A knot of something wild and untameable churned through his stomach as he suddenly realised that he already missed Middle Earth so much because he did not have to be Harry Potter there. He did not have to worry about Voldemort, or the Prophecy, or . . . or Sirius. There was no need to worry about anything except the next day's adventure, or when to have a bath. There was no Ministry or Daily Prophet in Middle Earth either. And despite all the responsibilities Harry had here, back on plain Earth, he still desperately wished to go to that curious dimension that seemed to have no end in its surprises.

Dumbledore spoke now, looking curious, "You _wish_ to go back? Haven't you completed the mission you were supposed to? I don't understand, Harry. You could not have come back otherwise."

Harry was silent. He knew Dumbledore was waiting for an explanation, and Harry had to provide one. It wouldn't be easy talking of his time in Middle Earth now that he knew he could never go back. But it would help in the long run, and he had to tell Dumbledore as he was the only living soul who knew that Harry had gone in the first place. "It's probably best that I tell you everything Professor . . . from the beginning I mean," he said.

"That _would_ be best," Dumbledore agreed, and his eyes were silent and understanding.

So Harry did.

He told Dumbledore of arriving in an entirely magical world called Middle-Earth, of finding the Fellowship and discovering the variety of races. Of feeling so overwhelmed at first and so stupidly embarrassed at every turn. Of feeling like he would be abandoned if they ever had any cause to fear his magic.

The holly trees.

The giant squid.

Explaining how it felt to loose Gandalf to that huge demon snake thing – finally realising what that deep resounding "NOOOO!" had been when the Balrog had fallen.

Meeting the elves and Galadriel; discovering his mission through the mirror, and finally the acceptance of his own magic within Middle Earth.

Saving Boromir from the orcs — thus fulfilling his mission — and breaking his ankle along the way.

Having to fly everywhere to get anywhere.

Tracking Merry and Pippin.

Fangorn. Saruman. The backlash of the two spells. And finally, waking up in St Mungos and realising . . .

"That is quite some story, Harry," said Dumbledore at the end. Throughout the telling he had stood up to tiredly pace the length of Harry's bed, pausing to stare when a death, or an almost death, or a kidnapping occurred, but now he sat back in his chair with a loud sigh. "Quite some story . . ." he repeated, staring at the floor.

When Dumbledore next lifted his head Harry was shocked to see a tear make its lonely way down a wrinkled cheek.

"Professor —" Harry began, but Dumbledore held up a hand.

"I am so very sorry that you had to go through all of that, Harry. You have had enough pain and hardship in your life without adding to it, and that this phenomenon should happen, should take you right after you had lost Sirius . . . forgive me. Somehow I feel responsible."

"No Professor," Harry protested, stunned at the emotion his normally unruffled headmaster was displaying. "It's not like you asked it to choose me."

"No," Dumbledore shook his head sadly, "I did something much worse."

"What?" Harry asked, not daring to voice the question louder than a whisper. _What had Dumbledore done that was so wrong?_

Dumbledore read the question in his eyes if not his voice. "I left you alone," he explained, sounding so old and tired. "I left a young boy of fifteen to find his own way in a _completely_ alien dimension with only an old hat whose magic would not last more than a day to keep him company. Who does that, Harry?"

Harry did not answer the lost, beseeching tone. In fact, he was feeling more than a little alarmed at the despondency he could taste in the air between them.

"I stand in _loco parentis_ while you live at Hogwarts yet we both know our relationship is more than that of student and teacher," Dumbledore continued. "It remained unspoken between us until now. Sending you, someone I care very much for, letting you travel to this Middle Earth by yourself — it was not a wise action on my part. Even though I told myself at the time that I had done and provided all I could have for you in this _thing's_ pursuit of you."

"Exactly!" Harry burst out. He had been listening diligently to the headmaster's speech, feeling prideful in all the right places and annoyed in others. "You did do all you could. Professor," Harry's voice was that of awe, "you even brought the Sorting Hat to me. Crossing time and space, and, and different worlds! And you had no choice but to leave me alone. You told me yourself that if anyone tried to rescue me they'd die. Besides, you didn't really leave me alone. Hedwig came —" Harry froze abruptly. "Hedwig . . . Professor?"

Dumbledore's head bowed. "I am truly sorry, Harry, but Hedwig did not come back with you."

The lump in Harry's throat became ever more painful. "You know, I didn't think she would," he admitted, to himself more so than his companion. He cleared his throat to rid it of the lump. "How exactly did I get here?"

Dumbledore did not waste time explaining. "I suspect that this Saruman wizard's spell, combined with your own, had absolutely no bearing on your returning home, other than that it knocked you unconscious and gave you quite a nasty bump on the head. In your comatose state you must have dreamed of Hogwarts, and thus you came to be there."

"I landed on Hogwarts grounds?"

"Not only that, but you landed in the very spot from where you left . . . and at the exact same time."

Harry's eyes snapped up. He had noticed the pause that Dumbledore had taken before concluding his sentence. "What do you mean by that, Sir?"

"I mean that it was as if you had not left at all, Harry. You simply blinked out of this world in one second, and blinked back into it in the next — minus your clothes and glasses, but sporting three or so months' growth of hair and a very becoming tan; plus an extra bump on the head, a broken ankle, and a few heavily bruised ribs. You will find everything is quite well healed now."

When Harry realised his mouth was open he closed it again with a dull thud. "You mean no time passed at all? I'm still fifteen? I-I didn't arrive with anything on?"

Harry had not even realise his birthday had passed while he was still in Middle Earth until he had thrown the question at Dumbledore. But realising it now and discovering that it hadn't really passed after all except that part which was evident by the change in his appearance . . . And why had he come back without any clothes, or glasses?

"Because you dreamed yourself here," Dumbledore answered, obviously interpreting the expression on Harry's face. "The manifestation of your physical self within your mind offered nothing other than what you were naturally born with — your own self, and nothing else. Not even your wand or your belongings came with you."

"B-but . . . why is it, I mean, when I travelled to Middle Earth that didn't happen the first time. I had all my stuff, and my clothes."

"Ah," Dumbledore held up a finger and lean forward in his chair. "That happened because you were already chosen to begin with. Do you understand Harry? You were not supposed to come back, just as anyone who is chosen by this phenomenon is not supposed to come back. Merlin did not come back when he was chosen. I suspect he either died, or hadn't completed his mission."

"So it just dumps you in any world where someone needs saving and doesn't bother taking you back out again?" The anger in Harry's voice was very apparent.

Dumbledore nodded, tiredly. "You understand Harry, that while you were there you were needed to play a seemingly insignificant role in the course of events, but you were needed to do it because out of all worlds only you could have saved this Boromir from certain death. And I do not just mean only you were powerful enough to. Circumstances, and the way we cope with them, play a part also." Dumbledore paused. "But understand it is not your destiny to play a larger part in their lives or in their war than the one which you have already participated in, and accomplished. Remember, you have your own world Harry, where you _are_ needed, and for something that plays a much, _much_, larger part and we both know what that is.

"But," Dumbledore continued before Harry could think to say anything, "I once told you it is our choices that shape who we are, and what sort people we will become. I believe that the fate of our world, Voldemort's fate, can wait awhile until _you_ choose to decide what time is best to leave your friends in Middle Earth."

Harry could hardly dare to believe it! "Are you saying I can go back? That it's actually possible?"

Dumbledore beamed. "As long as an item of yours, something that represents you utterly — such as your wand — is left in Middle Earth you can journey back and forth between the worlds at any time you choose. You need not worry about the difficulties of journeying back to Earth because you were born here and your very presence is set into the fabric of this world, into the very particles and elements that make up all living things. Besides, it is not as if any time would pass here while you're gone." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled as he said: "Only don't stay too long so that you come back as an old man. You still have your NEWT years to finish, Harry."

Harry grinned along with Dumbledore until he realised something. "Professor, does that mean my wand, and Hedwig, and my belongings, will always be stuck there?"

The light in Dumbledore's eyes dimmed slightly. "Well —" he began.

"But then, how . . .?" Harry interrupted.

"While you were sleeping I approached Mr Olivander with a tail feather from Fawkes — his first this season as a matter of fact. I asked him to reproduce the exact same wand. It has never been done before, as Olivander, and all wand-makers for that matter, take pride in all their creations being entirely unique, but he has agreed to pursue my request."

"So I'm going to have two wands? One in Middle Earth and one here?" Harry could not keep the shock from his voice. This was completely bizarre.

"Only until you learn to keep any and all external things you desire to have, when you travel, by utilising your subconscious mind." Harry's face must have shown confusion because Dumbledore explained: "In other words you must teach yourself how to keep the clothes on your back and your wand in your pocket —"

"But that means my stuff . . . and Hedwig! I can get them back!"

"Exactly, if you had let me finish earlier —"

"Thank you, Professor!" Impulsively Harry leaned forward and embraced his headmaster, but only for the tiniest of a second, before releasing him. "Sorry Sir." His face was red from embarrassment, but he couldn't stop the relieved grin from burgeoning on his face.

Dumbledore only laughed delightedly. "It's quite alright, Harry. Youth is at times unpredictable and spontaneous. And I don't know if you have realised this but when you learn to travel between the worlds, properly I mean, you can also take someone with you. I have no doubt your friends will support you. Miss Granger especially will not give up an opportunity to learn about various different cultures.

"However," Dumbledore added, his eyes flicking over Harry's own, "you will not be journeying there now. You will take a few weeks to recover from your ordeal, then, when you feel the time is right, we will be going to Middle Earth."

"Okay," Harry nodded. "Hang on . . ." His eyes moved sharply over Dumbledore's face. "What do you mean, 'we'?"

"Did I not say I should never have let you journey there by yourself, even if I could not stop the sequence of events from taking place?" Dumbledore explained. "Now that you _can_ journey there anytime you choose, I can follow you . . . and I need not worry about dying in a vortex or —"

"Lightening bolt," Harry supplied, his mind too dazed at the moment to know what it was doing.

"Exactly."

"But, Professor," Harry said, snapping out of his haze. "How can you travel to Middle Earth if you don't have any bit of yourself there to begin with?"

"Very good, Harry." Dumbledore chuckled, weaving his fingers together as they rested on his lap. "Well you see _I_ don't, but Fawkes does. If you remember I once told you that your wand shares a Phoenix feather from Fawkes. He and I also share a connection. Despite what some might think I am more Fawkes' pet than he mine. He is my protector, you can say. He will carry me along.

Dumbledore laughed at Harry's bewildered expression. "Phoenix's a very intelligent, very remarkable, and _very_ inconceivable birds. They have secrets that the human mind cannot hope to grasp, and vice versa. They can apparate, as you know. In this instance Fawkes will apparate to Middle Earth, following his own essence through your wand . . . And he will be taking me along."

"Right," Harry agreed, his mind still abuzz with what he was hearing.

"However, I believe it is prudent to warn you—" Harry's head snapped up from the bedcovers he had been staring at "—that we will be arriving in Middle Earth _sans clothes_, for lack of a better term. No matter how remarkable Phoenix's are they are still only birds. Fawkes will not be able to envisage us with our clothes on; he has not the power for that."

"But I do?" Harry asked, feeling bewildered. Then he thought of something. "Hang on . . . that means you won't have your wand with you."

"No," Dumbledore said jovially, beaming.

Harry stared. "Er . . . isn't that a bad thing?"

"I can do a bit of wandless magic, as you know."

"But that won't help!" Harry burst out, sitting up in the bed. "There are all sorts of nasty things there. Like orcs and trolls . . . and demon Balrogs—"

"Calm, Harry." Dumbledore held up his hands. "If we venture into any dire circumstances I can always apparate. You don't need a wand for that. Or, I can simply use your wand. Similarly, I can use your wand to conjure some robes for us when we arrive."

"Oh." Harry leaned back on his pillows. Dumbledore had made it sound all so simple, as though travelling between worlds was as easy as getting up in the morning. "Sir, can I ask you a question?"

"You just did, but I will wait expectantly for another," he answered, folding his fingers together.

Harry turned pink. "Well, I just want to know . . . how did you manage to know all that? I mean about using my wand's essence to travel back to Middle Earth?"

"Simply," Dumbledore answered, unthreading his fingers and leaning forward once more, "because every single person or creature — be they magical or muggle; every single plant or mountain or element; every single house or television, or any miniscule thing that exists, is part of an integrated series of roots, if you will, that connect together everything on this planet, this galaxy, and this universe. We are all part of a collective root system made up of the same material — stars; or rather star dust. A result, I am told, that stemmed from the supernova explosion that triggered the Big Bang and created the known Universe. I'm sure you know all about that from muggle school?"

Harry nodded, too dazed by what he was hearing to speak.

"Very good," said Dumbledore, pausing to collect his thoughts. "Now, considering that you are part of this root system, and that you are connected to everything, it is simple logic to work out that you can use the connection you have to this earth, this galaxy, and this universe, to find your way back into its sphere. Do you understand?"

"I think so," Harry said, biting his lip. "And does that work both ways? Is that why I'll be able to travel back to Middle Earth? Or is it only because my essence is in my wand?"

"Exactly, Harry! Your wand carries your essence, and even more important, it carries your _magical_ essence which gives it a boost, if you like. Your wand is still connected to this universe and because of that you, and I, can travel to Middle Earth."

"Is that how you were able to get the Sorting Hat to me? By using the connection it has to every Hogwarts student that it reads?"

Dumbledore looked surprised and pleased. "Yes I did."

"And it didn't have a lot of magic to keep itself there because it doesn't really have a magical essence, or a lot of any essence for that matter. Even after everything it's still only a hat?" Harry guessed.

Dumbledore beamed. "Excellent deduction, Harry."

"Well, I wish I'd known about this magical essence thing while I was still in Middle Earth, then I wouldn't have had to worry about how I was going to get back home without leaving my stuff," Harry said, exasperated.

"Yes, well, the Sorting Hat would have told you, but you did not put it on until very late . . ."

Harry blushed as Dumbledore gave him a raised-eyebrow look.

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". . . at first we thought it was Death Eaters or something because Lupin told us you were acting really weird, like you were bewitched—"

"But then Dumbledore told us a falling tree branch hit you in the storm. Oh Harry, it was really frightening when we heard, especially that you had a concussion only a few hours later. I'm surprised Madam Pompfrey didn't notice it actually. She's usually a lot more diligent with her work."

Ron and Hermione looked at him with gentle and relieved gazes as he lay before them in the Weasley's lounge, covered, at Mrs Weasley's instance, with a warm blanket that reached up to his neck. "Well I'm better now," Harry told them. "Although, I could do with a bit more of those Treacle Fudges, Ron."

Ron jumped up to get them at once. Harry knew he was being terribly advantage-taking, but it had been so long since he had tasted anything but _lembas_ bread and water (unless he counted the rabbit and those maggot-berries), and Mrs Weasley's cooking was always so nice, and made him think of lovely warm kitchens and homey smells. . .

Besides, Hermione and Ron would not let him get up to fetch it for himself so it was only right that they do it for him. Harry had tried explaining that he was perfectly fine now, but because Dumbledore had told Mrs Weasley (who had told her whole family) that he was still a bit woozy mentally (meaning he was still getting over the ordeal of transferring worlds, and, on top of that, temporarily loosing Hedwig) they had decided to act as if Harry still hadn't recovered completely.

Mrs Weasley had taken to mothering him even more than usual, which Harry did not mind in the least.

In fact, he felt he should be feeling guilty that he was getting all this pampering treatment while his friends in Middle Earth were on the brink of war. But he wasn't. Not at all. And that feeling, ironically, relieved him.

"Here you go mate," Ron said, plonking down in the armchair next to Harry with a plate full of Treacle Fudges in hand. "Fleur's bringing some milk," he added to Hermione's scowl. "Oh look here we are."

The quarter-Veela sauntered into the living room with a pitcher in one hand and a topped glass of milk in the other. She set them down on the little table next to Harry's sofa before straightening up and sighing shortly. Her long silvery-gold hair was in a plait today and it swung forward to fall into Harry's lap as she gave him two small pecks on either cheek.

Another thing that relieved him of his burden of 'guilt' was Fleur herself. It had been a pleasant surprise to discover that she was currently living at the Weasley's for the summer. She looked so much like an elf (even appearing to emanate a faint, silvery glow) that Harry did not feel any 'Middle Earth sickness' in her presence. And the fact that she was Bill's fiancée meant that she would always be around.

"Bonjour 'Arry," she greeted, stopping briefly to lay a cool hand over his forehead. She tsked. "Much too warm."

"That's because he's covered up in a thick woolly blanket, _and_ it's summer!"

Ginny had walked into the room and now stood beside Hermione. Both of them wore disproving looks.

"Well I was just going to say that Harry really shouldn't be eating Treacle Fudge for breakfast either," said Hermione, saving face. "It's much too unhealthy, especially as he's just come out of a coma."

Fleur waved a delicately boned hand. "Pish," she said, sounding remarkably English.

"Yeah, 'Pish' Hermione," Ron sniggered.

Hermione pursed her lips. Ginny crossed her arms. Harry drank his milk.

"Breakfast everyone!" Mrs Weasley called from the kitchen. "And don't you even think about getting up from that couch, Harry!" she added as Harry threw a leg to the floor. "Ron will be getting your breakfast for you. Won't you dear?"

"Yes Mum," Ron droned, but he threw Harry a wink.

"But Mum," Ginny added, walking towards the kitchen, "you don't actually expect Harry to eat by himself do you?"

"Well I —"

"Either we eat with him — meaning we'll have the bother of moving all the plates and cutlery and whatnot from the kitchen to the lounge — or he can eat with us."

Harry had to commend Ginny's ability to deal with Mrs Weasley. Out of all of the Weasley children Ginny was the only one who could talk circles around her mother, or lie with a perfectly straight face. Fred and George came in a close second.

"Alright," Mrs Weasley gave in. "Harry can eat at the table," she added, and Harry momentarily felt as though she were talking about a canine.

They all moved to the kitchen. Bill was already there looking, as always, very cool and handsome with his dragon-hide clothing and long hair. Fleur immediately made a beeline for the seat next to him and they went about feeding each other for the rest of the meal. Harry saw Mrs Weasley, and especially Hermione and Ginny, make faces at this. Though Mrs Weasley was the only one being politely discreet.

"More, Harry?" Mrs Weasley asked, thrusting the pan quarter-filled with egg and bacon under his nose.

"No thank you," Harry refused.

"Are you certain, dear? You're looking far too thin!" Mrs Weasley leaned over and plumped the pillow behind his back which she had, against Harry's protests, placed there earlier.

"Actually Mum, I think he looks right good," Ron commented, peering speculatively at Harry. "What have those Dursley's been making you do? Work the lawn all day every day?"

"Something like that," Harry answered, and managed to take a huge gulp of milk without choking.

"Well I certainly don't approve of that!" Mrs Weasley said. "And they could have at least had the decency to cut your hair. I can't imagine how it could have grown so much in such a short time!"

This time Harry did choke.

"I like it," Bill said, grinning. "It looks sort of like Sirius's."

No one said anything to that. Mrs Weasley went pink and began gathering up the dishes with her wand. Harry expected to feel upset, or at the very least guiltily at the first mention of Sirius, but to his surprise he felt something wonderful blossom in his chest. He suspected strongly that it might be pride. He grinned at Bill in acknowledgement.

After breakfast was over Harry was once more settled on his sofa (this time without the dreadfully warm blanket) with Hermione and Ron taking up the seats nearest him. Ginny had left to help Mrs Weasley with something upstairs and Fleur and Bill were cuddling up in the backyard with the Gnomes.

Although it did not seem dreadfully horrific to him any longer, as it had been when Harry had first heard it so many months ago in Dumbledore's office, he still made the decision to tell Ron and Hermione of the Prophecy and the part he was supposed to play in it. He would also tell them of his time spent in Middle Earth. Harry was positive they wouldn't believe him at first, but he knew Hermione, who was a stickler for listening to authority, would change her tune after Harry explained to her Dumbledore's involvement. And if Hermione believed him so, too, would Ron.

"So what's all this about, Harry?" Hermione said in her usual brisk tone. "You wanted it to be just the three of us —and let me tell you now, Ginny is not happy being excluded like this."

"I realise that," Harry said calmly, "but the less people who know the better," he reasoned.

"Does this have anything to do with those extra lessons Dumbledore's promised you this year?" Ron asked, looking like he was trying not to seem very eagre.

"Partly," Harry said, amused. Before he had departed from the hospital Dumbledore had told Harry that he would be giving him private lessons in his office during the school year, but only after Harry had finished his business in Middle Earth.

"Well," Ron urged," go on then!"

"It's about the Prophecy . . ." Ron and Hermione leaned forward, their faces a curious mix of excitement and nervousness. Harry took a deep breath. "It looks like I'm going to have to be the one to finish him off; Voldemort, I mean."

The three gazed at each other.

"Well," Hermione said finally, looking unusually flushed, "that's that, isn't it?"

"But that's means the Prophet's got it right," was all Ron said when Harry stared at him; but he looked vaguely confused, as though he thought the Daily Prophet couldn't get anything right when it mattered.

"I don't know about the Prophet," Harry told them. "I haven't really been paying that much attention to it." Which was perfectly true.

"What have you been doing holed up at your relatives house?" Ron asked in puzzlement. "I thought the Order told them to back off? Don't you have any time for yourself?"

"It's not that Ron," Harry said, avoiding his eyes. The moment of truth had come at last. "I wasn't even at the Dursley's this summer."

"What?" Ron and Hermione exchanged looks. "Where were you then?"

Harry laughed the sort of laugh people make when they're about to reveal something potentially serious and full of truth. "In another dimension."

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A/N: Here we are, at the end of chapter twelve.

How do you like it?

I want to reach the 200th review mark for this chapter, so please review!


	13. When adventure awaits, sit and bear it

Disclaimer: _Harry Potter_ remains the property of J.K. Rowling. _The Lord of the Rings_ belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien. I am not making any profit whatsoever in writing this story. I write it purely for the sake of my own and everyone else's enjoyment.

A/N: WOWEE! I've had more than fifty reviews for this chapter. Most of them have really put an extra jump in my step. I felt like I was walking on clouds . . . for about three seconds (lol). Of course, a couple of them leave a lot to be desired and they're quite unfounded in their accusations actually . . . what do these people drink, I ask? But that's unavoidable, I suppose. Thanks again for the wonderful reviews.

**IMPORTANT!** Again, there are spoilers for HBP in this chapter. But more even importantly, enjoy!

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**Chapter Thirteen: When adventure awaits, sit and bear it like a good boy.**

The wind was fierce that day as the three travellers plodded, scraped, and otherwise slinked steadfastly onward. Fierce enough to discourage the hearts of two of the travellers, who, only hobbits, would never be used to such ferocious and (to them) constantly changing weather. Their spirits were also glum, for some unforseen happenstance had managed to invite itself into their lives the day previous, and what was once four had dwindled down to three . . . if one was to count Gollum, which the hobbits didn't. So really, it was only a meagre two that now made up the company.

"What could have happened, Mr Frodo," Sam was saying to his master, and not for the first time, as the unlikely trio eased their weary feet to a halt in front of the Dead Marshes. The endless expanse of rotted peat, foul water, and grey mist stretched before them like an inaccessible ford in the dead of winter. To complete this picture, ominous black mountains pierced the horizon. Their hearts, unbelievably, sank even lower.

It was Gollum who answered in his usual singsongery. "Flown away she has. Flown away to her Master and deserted the hobbitses. Birds like she are tricksy—"

"I don't believe tha'!" Sam spat, leaning menacingly forward. "'Arry told her to stay put. She would never think about desertn' us!"

But Gollum only hissed and, like a snake, slithered forwards and into the faint mist. The hobbits did not follow him for the present, knowing that the creature was likely scouting the area before he would signal to them to follow.

"Perhaps she was hungry?" Frodo offered, his little face saddening at the thought. "We could have fed her better, or given her more water. Perhaps that was why she left."

"But she feeds 'erself," Sam said in a tone meant to placate, but all it did was cause Frodo to feel even more horribly.

"Yes Sam, but the rodents here are scarce. Oft times Hedwig would come back with nothing at all, if you remember."

"I'm not surprised. There's nothin' here in this dead land but more . . . _dead_. I'd like the sun to be shinin' at least. But Mr Frodo," Sam turned to the hobbit by his side and regarded him with soulful eyes," 'Edwig, no matter how hungry, would never abandon us because of tha'. You don't need to go blamin' yourself. You have enough things to be thinkin' about now." He looked pointedly at Frodo's chest.

Frodo stiffened and clutched at his chest in response, an action that did not escape Sam's notice. But then the little hobbit seemed to ease. "You're right, Sam. You're right. And Hedwig will be back . . . later if not soon. But I cannot help thinking that perhaps Gollum may have had a point, at least for one thing. I believe something has happened to Harry. Only that would cause Hedwig to leave us. Did you notice how oddly she acted before disappearing?"

"Aye, she flew in circles up high near the clouds, as if . . . as if she were confused by somethin'."

"Yes, I noticed it also."

"But what could it be," Sam said beseechingly.

Neither hobbit had an answer. Unfounded though their thoughts were, they could not help but feel that only some large misfortune could have taken Hedwig away . . . and what that then led their thoughts to . . . well, it was rather some time before they had calmed down at all.

A figure, bent and slippery, came at them through the mist. Gollum, his eyes alight with excitement, bounded forward, skidding to a stop at Frodo's feet. "Come come come," he sang in his raspy voice. "We's found the way! We thought we might have forgotten it at first, but the smell lingers, yes yes it does!"

Sam could not help but wonder if the smell Gollum was referring to was a remainder of his own stench after all this time. "Wonderful," the hobbit grouched. "More foul smells. If my nose don't fall off by the time we reach Mordor I'll seize my sword and do it m'self."

Frodo smiled for the first time in days. "Whatever will I do without you Sam?"

"Grow bored, I expect," Sam said, but he wished he had a bit of grass to chew on. Or a weed. It had been so long since he'd tasted Longbottom leaf on his tongue. Or the Old Toby. Now there was a plant that lingered long after the pipe was put out for the night.

The hobbits, following Gollum, set forth.

Two days later they were still trudging on to the realisation that the Dead Marshes really were dead. Dead bodies lay in the water and Frodo had met with them at one point, almost drowning in the process. After that the hobbits kept their eyes to the ground, thinking that heeding the advice of Gollum/Smeagol (they weren't sure which since he answered to both names now) was probably a good idea.

Ringwraiths had also set upon them. Ringwraiths riding what the hobbits could only describe as a type of dragon creature that had yet to be named. They were inclined to think it was most likely a hybrid abomination, like an orc, but they didn't dwell upon it for too long. Already Mordor approached.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The stench in the Edoras stables was overpowering.

Legolas did not let such things bother him usually, but on this new noontide a grim feeling had settled upon his heart, as though a heavy stone was holding it in place. And he was not the only one to be feeling so. He knew this. The entire Company, or what was left of it, was feeling it also. His keen senses, bequeathed to all elves, could distinguish the waves of despondency as soon his ears heralded the approach of their footsteps.

It had been too long since Harry was lost to them.

Too long to trust in the hope that he would somehow find his way back to them. Gandalf was long gone; riding out of the stables just this morn as swiftly as if he'd never been there at all.

The White Rider.

Even he had not been certain of Harry's fate.

It had been too long.

The elf sighed and leaned his back against a support post, letting his eyes flit to the people inhabiting the stable. They scampered this way and that, preparing for the long move to Helm's Deep. In a horse stall, the occupancy of which had been long since abandoned, a blind crone was fiddling with a few shells of straw — later to be weaved as a basket no doubt. Legolas briefly pondered on this woman. She, blind, frail, and old in the way of mortals, was most likely one of the ones (of which there were so little) to really understand and see the preposterousness of this move to Helm's Deep. She who had never seen anything now sees much in the end. As is the curious way with all _Edain_ who have been unfortunate enough to loose their sight.

This woman fascinated him. Her frailty, her withered face, everything about her fascinated him. It occurred to him suddenly, he who had not much experience with mortal death until very recently, that this was how Aragorn would turn out to be if this war was won. Frail, withered, and dying. Possibly even blind and deaf. What little hope that lingered in his heart almost diminished upon that thought. What was the point of hope when all that went with it on this Earth would die anyway? It was not like an elf to be this way; allowing the prospect of gloom to weave through his thoughts. But that his journey from Rivendell should lead him here, with one of his very dear friends missing and the others bordering on abject misery and the bleakness of impending battle . . .

A movement caught his attention. A small yellow-haired boy carting a piglet in one arm scurried forward, his leafy eyes sprouting to an impossible width as they spotted him in the languid yet alert pose all elvish warriors learn to master. Legolas offered the boy a small smile in hopes to comfort him, for it was not lost on the elf that mortals found his presence, and indeed the presence of all his kin, to be . . . disquieting upon first notice. And the boy was so very young; not more than six winters. A mere speck in the lifetime of an elf.

"Do you have a name young one?" he asked the boy in his most gentlest voice.

"H-Hanaard, milord," said the boy, barely containing his awe that an elf should wish to speak to him. "Hanaard is my name."

"Hanaard," Legolas repeated, smiling at the sweet sound of the young voice. "That is a very strong name. And where do you go with that piglet, Hanaard?"

Hanaard glanced down at the squealing piglet in his arms then reached up to wipe his nose with the sleeve of his tunic. Legolas had to hide a laugh at the childish gesture. "Felin is my pet. Only three weeks old and a runt of the litter. I saved him and he's not going to ever be eaten. Mama said so. I'm hiding him in the cart, that way no one can find him but me."

"I see." Legolas frowned thoughtfully. He had never heard of anyone keeping a pig as a pet, but then children were very strange no matter the Race. He himself remembered a carefree time spent playing in the trees on the outskirts of his father's palace with a worm he had found whilst digging in the dirt one day. Alas the worm had died not long after he had discovered it — being a worm its lifespan was much, much shorter than even an average dog's — but he had mourned that slippery creature, it being his first experience with death.

"Are you really an elf?" Hanaard asked, shifting the wailing piglet in his arms so that the little snout rested on his shoulder blade.

Legolas leaned down upon his knees in order to better speak with the hobbit-sized young one. "Yes."

"Do all elves look like girls?"

Legolas did not even have time to blink as a hearty guffaw sounded from behind him.

Gimli.

"Is there something you wish to add, my friend?" he asked, shifting around to be met with the still laughing dwarf. "It was naught but an innocently worded question, as is the way with all children. They cannot know better."

Gimli humphed. "What they are is too honest by half! And if you do not turn around you'll never discover that I'm right!"

Legolas, still squatting, spun on his toes. The space before him stood empty but the path before him did not. Hanaard was already sprinting (as fast as he was able with the piglet in his arms) out of the stable doors to be lost among the countless other passers-by. Legolas stood, disappointed.

"He is a sweet child."

"Worth dying for," Gimli agreed, and at that moment Legolas knew he was right. This was what they were fighting for; better futures for all the precious little ones like Hanaard. And a stubborn dwarf had comprehended this a lot sooner than he had. An elf. He smiled inwardly. How very proud he was of his friend.

"You're right, Gimli. He is worth dying for."

"Enough of this melancholy," Gimli said after a few moments of silent thought. "Too long have we mulled over this thankless emotion of late. Though, I admit, not without a good brew by our sides. Agreeable that was, very agreeable to a dwarf. Theoden serves good ale. Have you seen the cellars? Mightier than the entirety of Edoras. Ha ha!"

"Have you been drinking, Gimli?" Legolas teased.

"Only a pint elf, only a pint." At his friend's look Gimli amended, "or ten."

Legolas allowed his musical laughter to spill forth. He never noticed that the sound halted the workings of everyone in the stables. A bit awestruck, a bit alarmed, they stared nevertheless, utterly captivated.

Gimli snorted, shaking his bushy mane. _Leave it to an elf . . ._

"Come, my friend," Legolas said at last, wiping a tear from his eye. "I suddenly find myself insatiably thirsty. What say we find Aragorn and Boromir and hasten them down to the cellars? I have yet to sample this brew of Rohan. If it is as good as you claim, then I would not mind a sip or two."

"Better than good it is, lad," Gimli assured. "And I'll soon have the stomach to prove it!"

Legolas' tinkling laughter sounded again as they walked from the stables.

Gimli resisted the urge to roll his eyes as he spotted several lassies, who had been hovering outside the stable doors for a glimpse of the elf, attempt to straighten their hair. Legolas nodded to them politely and they all three blushed the colour of freshly ripe raspberries. Which Gimli new to be very red indeed. It was, after all, the only fruit he dared enjoy. Glittering red jewels they reminded him of, especially when freshly washed.

As they made their way up the hill and to the Golden Hall Gimli muttered, "If you would but cease to laugh and smile and nod they would be less inclined to follow us. You might as well remove yourself from their sight altogether and hide in the cellars."

Legolas smiled, proof that he was not oblivious to what was going on around him. "I must give them some hope in these dark times, Gimli. If they believe I wish to bestow my attention upon them—"

"Courtly attention you mean," Gimli interrupted, mumbling.

"Aye. If they think that, all the more better. They would not be concerned with what is happening around them. I am giving them a focus. Something for their hearts to aspire to."

"You will not think so when they start chasing you, lad. Women, no matter what Race, become worse than orcs when in pursuit of something they desire. I'd bar my chamber door tonight if I were you. Put a chair across it! And do not dare laugh, elf!" for Gimli had spotted several women slinking along the smithy wall beside them.

"I would not cause you discomfort," Legolas said.

They walked in companionable silence all the way to the Golden Hall. A few times the elf garnered much attention (even from some of the older women and most men who could not help but stare) but most times everyone else was busy packing provisions for the long journey to Helm's Deep.

"They've never seen an elf," Gimli growled as he and Legolas stepped into the hall.

"Aye. The people of Rohan think us to be walking legends, far out of their reach."

"Well they can certainly reach you now, and not for want of trying!"

Legolas smirked at Gimli's meaning. "If it would please you, I will cease to encourage them."

"You encourage them by existing, Legolas. Nay, you cannot help it. It is their hearts that are so overcome by your comely features, and hearts have a way of speaking for themselves. You have naught to do with it."

Legolas clapped Gimli on the shoulder. "Thank _you_ for existing, my friend. We have been through many perils, yet forever do you stand by my side. Elf-friend I name you. And forever shall you be."

"A distinction worthy for one such as Gimli." Aragorn sat on a wooden crate beside a small table smoking a pipe. He tilted his head at them. Gimli and Legolas then watched, amusedly, as two men scurried forward and bade him get off the crate. Looking resigned, Aragorn did so.

As the men hefted the crate out of the hall he shrugged. "No sooner do I sit on something then they come and take it away for loading on the wagons. I think that one was full of shields." That said, Aragorn settled down on the right corner of the table.

Both Legolas and Gimli wondered why he did not just sit on the stools available that every table hosted, but looking about they could see that the stools were no longer in place, but packed against the far wall of the hall. Everything was slowly emptying.

"Where is Boromir?" Legolas asked, for his perusal of the hall did not reveal the young Steward's son to his eyes.

"He is with Theoden," Aragorn replied, still casually puffing. "I know not what they speak of, but I am certain you can guess as well as I."

"Indeed," Legolas frowned. "It is a useless attempt on his part to convince the king, for Theoden is about as stubborn as a dwarf. But I must commend him. He tries at least."

Gimli held up a hand and drawled gruffly, "I thank you for the compliment."

Legolas felt his lip twitch. "Gimli and I were hoping that you and Boromir might join us for an interlude in the cellars . . . strictly for the purpose of tasting of course."

"I myself have already tasted ten pints," Gimli said. "What say you, Aragorn? Care to join us for some more tasting? There is naught else to do except sit and wait."

Aragorn nodded, pretending to think. "Tempting. I—" The ranger stood up, eyes widening onto something over Legolas and Gimli's heads. They did not have a chance to turn around for a flash of something large and white hurtled over their heads.

"Hedwig!" Legolas cried, as the bird flew above their heads in dizzying circles, fit to bring upon the whole of Edoras with her hooting. "What is wrong with her?"

"I do not know," Aragorn breathed. He stretched out a gentle hand to the agitated bird. "Hedwig, mani naa ta?"

The bird stopped her racket immediately in response to the elvish and settled onto a crossbeam near the ceiling. But no matter how much they coaxed her she would not come down. Eventually, Aragorn plucked a bit of leftover bread from his lunch plate and placed it onto the table. Seeing this, Hedwig swooped down, landing awkwardly on the flat surface which was not designed to host owl talons, and gobbled it up. Next, she moved on to Aragorn's plate to pick at the bit of meat still left on the bone.

The three companions watched her eat with sombre eyes. At last, Gimli voiced what they had all been thinking at some point. "Something has happened to the hobbits."

"It is possible," Aragorn said. "But they would have written a letter, or offered her a piece of their clothing to let us know if they were really in trouble. More likely she is here because of Harry. I believe she cannot sense him anywhere, and that is why she came to us, believing he was here as well."

Their previous teasing mood had long since abated at the appearance of Hedwig, for she brought the young wizard into their thoughts. They could not think of anything he could be but passed away, even though Gandalf insisted he was not. For, they argued, how could a person stay unconscious for days on end? Of course there were people in the world who had that misfortune, but not Harry; otherwise Hedwig would have found him, was that not so? The fact that she did not led them to think the worst.

Harry was dead.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Harry's dreams had been torturous of late.

More often than not he was plagued with images of orcs; their great razored mouths devouring something red and chunky, almost making Harry gag in his sleep as he could guess what that chunky something was. He'd only had a week of reprieve after arriving at the Weasley's, and then the dreams had started. He hadn't mentioned them to anyone save Hermione and Ron, who had been, perhaps, the least helpful in helping him to figure it all out. They had gotten over Harry's dimension travelling it was true (although, not without thinking about reserving him a ward in St Mungos first), but they were still _slightly_ overwhelmed by it all, to the point where they had taken to somewhat ignoring it whenever it was brought up by Harry. So when Harry told them about his dreams Hermione either changed the subject in her usual flippant way or Ron remembered something important he had to do for Mrs Weasley, like peel the potatoes or clean the toilet bowl.

Harry would never admit it, but this hurt him somewhat. He had felt as though his best friends would delight upon discovering that their best friend was a dimension traveller, and, subsequently, demand to be taken to that dimension. He had even prepared a great speech that explained why he wouldn't be able to take them yet because even he wasn't sure how to do it properly himself, and it could be a long while before he would even learn how to be able to keep the clothes on his back let alone take other people with him. But that hadn't been the case. They had seemed almost . . . Harry wasn't sure if 'afraid' was the right word, but . . . 'permanently startled' might be a better description.

Determination was how Harry got through it. Determination to ignore how Ron and Hermione were acting and just enjoy the days he could spend with his best friends before it was time to go to Middle Earth again. And that was another thing Hermione and Ron were not pleased about — that he would be going back at all! They could not see why Harry had to go back, even though he had offered a number of explanations ranging from the repossession of his most treasured objects, to helping his new friends, (here, Hermione had had a hint of reversed opinion when Harry told them about hobbits and elves and dwarves, but it still hadn't been enough to tumble her from her perch).

But Harry had not dared to tell them that there was currently a war brewing in Middle Earth. He could just imagine Hermione's reaction: "Oh Harry, a _war_? You do realise you could die, don't you? I mean, they have swords and stuff. Well you're not going, and that's final!" and Ron would probably think it cool at first, but be terrified for Harry later. In fact, he wouldn't put it past them to tie him up in his sleep and leave him there until September first.

Despite all this, however, he'd been having a carefree time at the Weasleys, which revealed itself to all by the healthy glow in his appearance. Even Mrs Weasley had noticed, commenting that she had never seen him look quite so well and happy. His time spent outdoors in Middle Earth and the subsequent frolicking under the sun in the Weasley's garden adorned him a golden skin tone that shone with good health. Hermione had even observed one afternoon that his green eyes now stood out even more dramatically from under the tan of his skin. "But you know," she had added, peering speculatively at his face, "you can't really notice it _that_ much. You should really loose the glasses. Besides, they're going to be too bothersome in that, um, place you're going to go to," which was the only time Hermione had ever, willingly, mentioned Middle Earth without any evocation from Harry.

He had gotten a shock one morning not long after arriving at the Weasley's when Hermione plonked several large texts that Harry immediately recognised as their assigned school books onto the kitchen table, and ordered for him and Ron to begin their summer homework. In all the excitement that had happened in his life Harry had forgotten about the real world. Doing homework this time wasn't as bad as last year's summer holidays because he actually had someone to do it with. Hermione, predictably, had already finished hers but Ron hadn't, and Ginny still had an essay to write so the three, with Hermione lecturing on the side, sat at the kitchen table while Mrs Weasley's cooking scents floated tantalisingly about the room and some times Ron would nick a newly baked sweet or two from the cooling rack when his mother's back was turned.

Sometimes Fleur and Bill would join them when they had some time to spare and Bill would use his wand to summon a few cakes — but Mrs Weasley always caught him at it. Even going so far as to say one time, "Ron hasn't even tried to steal any, really, I'm disappointed in you, Bill!" which produced much choked sniggering from everyone else, leaving Mrs Weasley to wonder whether they'd all developed premature colds.

Fred and George would join them for dinner most nights, or rather, every night they got hungry which was pretty much all nights except when they ate at the Leaky Cauldron. These nights the twins would regale them all with certain characters that entered the pub to eat there also, none of which were, unfortunately or fortunately (depending on how you looked at it) Death Eaters. They had also seen a hag at one point, and Fred swore he'd spotted a vampire slink into the pub from the back entrance (which suggested it might have come from Knockturn Alley) but no one except George had really believed him. As Ginny had pointed out, "Vampires wouldn't dare to lurk about any wizarding establishments, let alone _in_ them for that matter! They're not that stupid."

No one except perhaps Mrs Weasley got to see Mr Weasley. He left for work before the sun was even up and came back long after it had set again.

"Now that Scrimgeour is the new Minister, things are actually getting done," Mrs Weasley had said while pottering about the kitchen one morning, stopping only to flip a pancake or two. "He's got your father working on that case with the exploding trunk up in Nottinghamshire. Not to mention all the other things that have been happening. Just last night some poor old dear acquired a set of false teeth that'd been enchanted to bite her tongue every time she had the urge to eat or drink. Well, you can imagine how horrible . . ."

"Why?" Harry, Ron, and Ginny had asked leaning forward so far in their seats that they were in danger of falling off.

"It's all this You-Know-Who business. It's got people antsy. Even if they're not on his side, well, all I'll say is that there're some funny people out there — people who aren't exactly that fond of muggles. Now help me set the table, Ginny. You can start with the placemats. Here you are, dear."

Voldemort, Harry realised, was impossible to ignore as he had so foolishly hoped. But that did not mean that Harry actually had to think about him all the time, and he stubbornly told himself he wouldn't; at least not until he went back to Middle Earth, finished his business, and came back to Hogwarts again where the real world would catch up. For the time being Voldemort and his Death Eaters would only linger in the back of Harry's thoughts, not take up most of them. The relief Harry felt at actually being able to do this was substantial, and it was all due to his dimension travelling. Again, he could not thank that lightening bolt enough for having shot out of the sky and zapped him into Middle Earth.

A few nights after Fred and George's vampire sighting had passed Harry, Ron, and Hermione could be found lounging in Harry's room which used to belong to Fred and George, and so, still had a few odd and interesting titbits lying about or hidden in mouse holes or under the bed. Harry was telling them stories about his adventures with the Fellowship (for once interesting Ron and Hermione so much that they didn't even think to leave or change the subject) and had just gotten to the part of the cave troll in Balin's tomb when Fred and George themselves clattered into the room. Harry's mouth froze in mid-speak as the twins eyed him suspiciously.

"You're quite a good storyteller, Harry. Never knew you had it in you. Excellent imagination," Fred said casually, sauntering passed Harry on the bed, his twin right behind him.

"Er . . ." Harry said, and scuttled back extremely fast when it looked like Fred was about to sit on the bed.

Fred only eyed him a moment with an arched brow then said: "Huh."

"What are you two doing here so early?" Ron asked. He had been lying across Harry's pillows in order to better see the ceiling for whatever reason and now lifted himself onto his elbows to glare at the twins.

George spared a glance at Ron, looked at Hermione — who was settled in a corner, an abandoned book in her lap — then stared at Harry, who tried for a politely innocent expression. George shook his head almost disappointedly. "Ah Harry, you've got it all wrong. Take it from the experts. If you want to look innocent you don't seem as if you've drunk a gallon of laxatives."

There was a strange sort of cough/gurgle/splatter in the corner where Hermione was sitting. "Don't mind me," she rasped when they all looked at her. But her face at gone extremely pink.

"Alright, so you found me out," Harry grumbled, strangely not that putout or horrified at whatever imagined repercussions would result. "What now?"

"You tell us what all that was about, that's 'what now'," Fred said, making himself comfortable at last. "Hey!" Ron yelped when Fred pushed his long legs off the bed in order to make room for George.

The twins, identical in face and expression, then stared at him expectantly.

Harry stood up, rubbed his suddenly bleary eyes beneath his glasses, focused on a small stain on the wall opposite, and began:

"About a week or so ago there was this storm in Surrey, which you probably know about, and that's when I first heard this noise. It sounded like tapping and it would come and go. It creeped me out actually because I thought it was Dobby the House elf come to warn me not to come back to Hogwarts again . . ." Harry explained about the storm and the deafness the continuous sound had caused him, his conversation with Dumbledore, the fact that the phenomenon had chosen him to take him to another dimension, and finally, the lightening bolt from the thundercloud sky. ". . . and I landed on this mountaintop in the middle of a blizzard."

"Hang on," Fred said slowly as Harry took a breath. "Just hang on a tic. You mean to say that you actually _journeyed_ to another dimension? Literally? Like, without being sedated?"

It only took Harry a split second to grasp what Fred meant. So his voice was uncommonly defensive when he answered, "Yes!"

"Right," Fred's face looked twisted in a strange half-confused half-amused hybrid of thought. Harry looked at George, who was mimicking the same expression.

"I'm not being stupid," Harry told them, his eyes flitting between their faces. "You can ask Professor Dumbledore."

"No no no!" said George, waving his hand stoically. "It's not that at all. We believe you, Harry, full on! It's just, well," he threw a glance at Fred, who glanced back, "we're sort of disappointed it didn't happen to us, you see."

"Oh," was all Harry, Ron, and Hermione could think say. That was the last thing any of them had expected to hear.

"Yeah," Fred continued, "we're sort of peeved about that. But, all's fair and that sort of thing I suppose. Just one question though . . . can we come with?"

Harry started, blinking. "What?"

"I mean the next time you decide to travel there, can we come with you?"

"Oh, Harry hasn't figured out how to do that yet." Ron was lying prone on the bed once more now that Harry had taken leave of it, hands folded casually over his stomach. He wasn't even looking up at the rest as he spoke. "He's going to have to teach himself."

Fred frowned at Ron. "I guess we'll have to wait then."

He had said this so confidently that Harry could not stop the image of him and George atop a _talan_ in Lothlorien, offering Orophin a Puking Pastel in a gesture of good will. The scene was so unexpected and so reflecting of the twins' exploits that Harry choked on a snort that threatened to burst.

No one seemed to have noticed.

George slapped Fred on his shoulder. "We'd best be off then, we left Verity in charge. She gets a bit . . . antsy."

With that the twins skirted off the bed, straightened their clothes, and were just about to leave when Hermione ordered "Stop!" in a tone not un-like Professor McGonagall's. The ex-pranksters obeyed at once. They whirled around, pinning equally innocent gazes on the bushy-haired girl. She snorted. "You should think about taking your own advice," she said dryly, before straightening up. "Why would you leave your store now, at this precise time, only a few hours before closing?"

The twins shared a look, their eyebrows raised. They leaned towards each other and exchanged a mumble of words, among which "you idiot" and "not my fault" were discernable. At last, George slumped. "You do know that you can be very irritating sometimes, Hermione?"

"Yes. I do," Hermione said proudly, and Harry and Ron were left wondering what on earth was going on right under their noses that they had no clue about.

"What the bloody heck is going on?" Ron voiced in his usual subtle way.

"Fred and George already knew that you had travelled to Middle Earth, Harry," Hermione explained as Harry and Ron jerked their heads in the twins' direction. "_Before_ they pretended to stumble into the room and intimidate you."

"How the bloody . . ." Ron trailed off. It seemed as if a shrug had entered his voice; as though he was so used to the twins' antics by now that even attempting to decipher them was a useless endeavour and not worth bothering about.

Fred took off an imaginary hat and bowed to Hermione. "If you will, my good madam."

She sighed and briefly straightened her skirt so that it fell over her knees before beginning. "They'd obviously overheard us at some point, probably when you first told us about it Harry, and realised that you were being serious. Their curiosity could not keep them away for long so they concocted a somewhat hasty plan to confront you today, now, in hopes they would catch you talking about it, not realising that it would have served them better to wait until after work to catch you at it then. You speak about Middle Earth often enough, I'm sure it wouldn't have been hard."

Ron and Harry only stared at Hermione, disbelieving, for one moment, just how smart she really was.

The twin's, however, nodded, looking impressed. "She's right," they said.

"The day you were wrapped up in Ronnie's old blankiepoo on the couch Fred flooed home for a design we'd left in the kitchen the night before," George continued. "He overheard you talking."

Harry could not believe they hadn't noticed Fred lurking about like some sort of . . . lurker. It wasn't as if the Weasley's had a big house. "Where were you exactly?"

"Stairs," Fred grunted. "Afterwards I apparated back to the store and told George all about it. Of course we were excited as all heck. I mean, travelling to different worlds . . . it would only happen to you Harry!"

"I never travelled to different worlds. Only one."

"Still, you travelled to _a_ world, didn't you? Oh, and you will let us know when you actually manage to perfect that technique, won't you?" This, from George.

"I—"

"Because Fred and I want to come with you. Purely for work purposes you must realise. Strange unpronounceable plants that no one can find in our world will be a great benefit to us. Competing stores like Zonkos won't be able to steal our ideas then. We would never think of, say, tagging along only to have a little fun and cause loads of mischief."

"No, never that," Fred assured. "And would you look at the time," he said checking his watchless wrist. "We really must dash. We'll see you tomorrow night at dinner. Tell Mum we dropped by."

There were two _pops_ and nothing but empty air in place where the twins had stood.

Ron turned to Hermione. "You know, I don't buy that story you told Fred and George. You can't have guessed everything _that_ accurately."

Harry was surprised. It was not like Ron to be so insightful, especially when Harry would not be the one think of it first.

"You're right," Hermione admitted, surprising Harry and even Ron. "I knew someone was on the stairs that day Harry told us about Middle Earth. I heard a creak and saw a shadow and a flash of ginger hair but that was it. I thought I must have imagined it at first because the only redheads in the house at the time were busy being useful somewhere else, but when the twins stumbled into the room like that today looking so . . . contriving, I revaluated my earlier thoughts. I mean, Fred and George were put into Gryffindor for a reason, weren't they — so they can't be sly if their livelihoods depended on it! They're all about _charge first and think about the consequences later_, aren't they. It was easy enough to guess where they were going with all their hampering."

"For you, maybe." Ron said.

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"Gerroff you l'ttle— aaaaaghhh!"

The gnome flew the length of sixty feet before landing in the next field.

Hermione shook her hands and did a sort of jig on the spot. "Did you see that?" she squealed, her face beaming. "Did you see what I did?"

Harry and Ron only stared at her, too dumbfounded to speak.

"I gave that gnome what for!" she continued, this time emphasising her words by a fisted hand jerking in the direction of the fallen victim, who now drunkenly climbed to its feet. The tiny figure then dived (just as drunkenly) into a nearby rabbit hole — but not before popping out for a quick one-fingered salute then dashing back in.

Hermione humped, hands on hips. "Well, that was just rude!"

"We don't know if that's what it really meant, Hermione," Ron said, giving Harry a look full of mischief. "I mean, it could have just been picking its nose," he finished matter-of-factly.

Harry found his snort of laughter turning into a not-very-cleverly disguised cough as Hermione spun around, gaping. "I doubt that very much, Ron! And for future reference . . . that just might have been the most disgusting thing that's ever left your mouth."

"I doubt that," Ron said calmly, "and you do as well. Besides, you were acting sort of . . . not yourself. I thought you hated it when the time came for Gnome Cleaning. You're always complaining about it. 'Oh leave the poor creatures alone!'" Ron said, in a similar pitched likeness to Hermione's voice. "Soon you'll be starting SPUG: The Society for the Promotion of Ugly Gnomes."

This time both Hermione and Harry stared at Ron. "You used something similar to that last year," Hermione said, crossing her arms. "If you want to be witty, try using original material."

"I was hoping you wouldn't remember." Ron did not look embarrassed in the least at having admitted that. "But my point was made, wasn't it? You did used to hate it when we tossed Gnomes. Why the change of mind?"

Hermione slumped, and looked up at them through her bushy hair. "One of them thought it funny to . . ." she trailed off, her face scarlet.

"What?" Harry and Ron said at once.

Hermione expelled a harsh breath. "When we were out here the other day doing homework, well, one of them thought it funny to do its business in my knapsack. _Travelling with Trolls_ is now beyond repair because . . . well because that thing smudged its . . . business all over the ink. And I can't _Evanesco_ it or I risk erasing the words on the pages!"

Harry and Ron did not dare to look at each other, afraid they would laugh otherwise. Shuffling their feet seemed like a better alternative and that's what they did, whilst trying not to blink at the same time. "Oh," Harry said, his eyes watering. "So, you thought to get revenge on the little, erm, blighters . . .?"

Hermione nodded sharply, not having guessed anything was amiss, or either hiding it very well. "Exactly."

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Not much happened in the days after Hermione had set the record for the longest gnome throw ever witnessed in the Weasley garden. Professor Lupin visited a couple of times, the last looking even more tired and subdued than usual. When Harry asked what had happened, Lupin smiled wearily.

"I haven't been getting much sleep lately, Harry. The werewolves have been congregating in even bigger numbers, which means I need to keep on my guard constantly now. They still don't trust me because I associate with wizards."

"So, they don't have wands themselves?" Harry had inquired, feeling puzzled. He'd assumed werewolves were normal wizards who got fuzzy once a month but lived relatively ordinary lives, if a bit poor.

"No. They don't really have much to do with the wizarding world since it considers them Dark Creatures. They withdrew from it a long time ago. Especially those that Fenrir Greyback had bitten. Those wolves hadn't even gone to wizarding school let alone held a wand. I was fortunate."

Then Lupin had stared over Harry's head, a far away look in his eyes. Instinctively, Harry had known he was thinking of the Marauders.

He'd shaken his head too soon enough. "But what about you, Harry? Are you feeling alright? Are you feeling " Lupin had leaned in closer, despite the fact that the others were all engaged in their own activities "—prepared?"

"What do you mean, Professor?"

"Well, Harry, you should really think about learning some rudimentary spells. Even some more curses and jinxes, no matter how simple they might seem, would be a good idea at this point. They could save your life."

Then Lupin had produced a shabby, dog-eared book from out of an equally shabby knapsack and handed it to Harry. It read, _Curses and Jinxes for the Ordinary Wizard: How to defend oneself against nasty persons, dark creatures, and assorted other beasts. _

"You know full well how I feel about you going to this Middle Age place," Lupin had said, staring steadily at Harry. "I mean, I'm not exactly thrilled with the idea since I don't understand why you should want to go back to begin with, and for what reason. But Dumbledore assures me it's a valid one, and the fact that he will be going with you eases my mind, quite a lot actually, I'm not afraid of admitting. Though, why he had to be so secretive about all this when Tonks and I first found you in Private drive . . . Anyway, I want you to look over that." He nodded at the book. "Memorise as many spells as you can. I know you won't be able to take it with you, so you'd best start now."

Harry had been touched by the gesture, and rather felt as though Lupin had been passing on a treasured possession, like father would do to son. He had dutifully promised Lupin he would learn as many spells as he could in preparation for his trip to Middle Earth. But Harry wasn't _that_ worried about it; more excited than worried in fact. Dumbledore would be with him after all.

A week after Lupin's last visit passed Harry received an owl from Dumbledore at breakfast. Well, it had first made itself comfortable on his toast but he'd been able to retrieve the letter nonetheless.

_Harry,_

_I do hope you are enjoying your stay at the Weasleys. I, myself, have just arrived from a long overdue trip to Tibet. Most fascinating, those monks. Now on to important business. Mr Ollivander informs me that the wand I promised is now completed. I will be opening the Floo link to my office at exactly two minutes passed five o'clock this afternoon. This passage will stay open one minute only, so be prompt . . . Come alone, Harry, as we have much to do and discuss._

_A.D. _

"What does it say?"

Harry looked up. Everyone was staring at him, but it was Hermione who'd spoken.

"Oh, er . . . I'm to meet Dumbledore this afternoon in his office."

Hermione and Ron looked sharply at each other.

"Well you must comb your hair then, Harry," Mrs Weasley said, bustling about with a plateful of egg and bacon and placing it on the table in front of Harry. The Hogwarts' owl screeched at the sudden intrusion to its space and knocked over the plate of water it had been drinking from. Mrs Weasley's "Oh dear!" didn't stop it from spreading its large wings (in turn, knocking a couple of glasses) and taking flight over Harry's head and out the window.

Ginny sniggered into her tea. "Well at least it's had something to drink."

Mrs Weasley dithered around the table, wand held aloft. "I should really clear these feathers up. It's very unsanitary. Have you all eaten? Harry, you haven't finished your second helpings yet! But I suppose you wouldn't be that inclined right now would you, what with that nice fat feather sitting right in the middle of your plate . . ."

"I rather think it makes a nice garnish," Ron put in.

"Yes, well, what you rather think is irrelevant Ron," Mrs Weasley said restlessly. "Oh it doesn't matter! Off you lot go then." She shooed them out of the kitchen before any of them could protest, but she shoved a buttered scone into Harry's hand in the process.

"That's so unfair," Ron complained a while later as they descended to the amateur Weasley Quidditch pitch. He had spoken in response to Harry's hearty bite into the warm, delicious scone, of which Ron and the others hadn't tasted and which was to be eaten only at lunch. Since lunch was a few hours away, Harry felt Ron had a right to complain. But that did not mean Harry had to share.

"I mean," Ron continued with gusto, his glare turning even more murderous (if it was possible) as Harry took another lusty bite, almost finishing the scone in the process, "what's so special about you? You get a treat and we get a boot!"

"I'm prettier that you Ron," Harry said with not the least hint of amusement, and Ginny and Hermione howled with appreciative laughter.

Ron only gaped for a few seconds. Then his ears, slowly, reddened.

"Besides," Harry continued, now quite enjoying himself, "you all had second helpings. I didn't."

Ron sputtered. "Yeah . . . ?" He didn't seem to have anymore words left.

Hermione and Ginny were still sniggering quietly as the quartet settled under the leaves of a giant tree just at the edge of the Quidditch field, leaning their backs comfortably against it. Ron had brought along an old deflated football that Mr Weasley had found in a rubbish bin to use as a Quaffle, but as they hadn't brought their brooms (and therefore, couldn't play Quidditch) Ron ended up playing with it on his own. He would toss it in the air, catch it, squash the life out of it, and repeat the process. The others watched him do this for a good five minutes, noting that as time went by the ball was getting squashed rather angrily and tossed rather vigorously.

Ron finally stopped, a thoughtful expression on his face. "Why _do_ you have to go back, Harry?"

Harry could not have been more surprised by a question. Neither, it seemed, had Hermione. "We agreed we wouldn't talk about that Ron!" she hissed.

"Talk about what?" Ginny asked, looking between the three friends. "What's going on? Where does Harry have to go back to?"

"None of your business, Ginny." Ron was staring at Harry with an odd look in his eyes. Harry decided he did not like that look.

"It is my business!" said Ginny, firing up at once. "You brought up the topic with me sitting here; therefore it's my business as well!"

"That's not how it works." Ron glared at his sister. "Go back to the house. Mum probably needs your help with lunch or something."

Hermione had put her head in one hand but was managing to shake it nonetheless.

Ginny's lips pursed so much that the blood rushed out of them. "Fine! Alright. You don't want me around. That's fine." She shot up so fast she knocked Hermione's knee in the process. Stopping only for a short "Sorry," to Hermione, Ginny stalked off in the direction of the Burrow. They could hear her muttering loudly until she was too far for anything to be heard.

Ron turned back to look at Harry. "Well?"

"Ron . . . you mustn't . . ." Hermione said weakly. Her cheeks at two high spots of colour on them.

"I think it's a little late for that, Hermione," Harry said, looking between them. "What's going on with you two? What have you been talking about when I'm not there? And you," he turned to Ron "what's your problem? You're acting like a . . . a . . ."

"Yeah?" Ron said angrily, hands clenching tightly to the football. "Like a what?"

Hermione finally exploded "Shut up the both of you! We're not going to get into a pointless argument over this!"

"I want—" Harry began.

"Yes, and you will know now, thanks to this idiot!" She glared at Ron, who turned away, punching the ball from hand to hand.

A glaring silence preceded Hermione's outburst. Harry also began to realise that he had not felt this way since fourth year, when Ron had looked at him just as oddly before their horrible argument. But the difference was that now, Hermione was in on it too.

"Harry," she started, but seemed to trail off when he didn't give her any encouragement. She closed her eyes. "Alright. You want to know the reason?" She breathed deep. "Ever since you told us about Middle Earth . . . well it wasn't so much that you'd been there, that wasn't your fault after all . . . but . . . well . . . when you told us that you would be going back . . . w-we didn't like it."

Ron's eye twitched.

Harry looked incredulously between them. Hermione dropped her gaze when it collided with his own. "That's what this is about? You, both of you, are jealous that I'm going back!"

Before Ron could retort — his ears had gone red again — Hermione beat him to it. "That's not it at all, Harry! We just don't want you going back! I mean, why do you have to go back at all? I understand that you didn't say goodbye to your new friends and you might be feeling a bit of guilt over that, but, for what other reason I can't imagine!"

"Because there's a war!" Harry finally shouted, disbelieving that they should think like this. "My new friends, as you called them, are in a war and I have to help. That's why I have to go back. I'd do the same for either of you if you lived in a different world. And have you forgotten about Hedwig? And my father's invisibility cloak? You think I would just leave them there?"

Hermione had clasped her hands over her mouth, looking horrified. After a few seconds of mutual staring she set them aside and spoke. "B-but Harry, you belong here. We need you here."

Harry felt like swearing, but couldn't drudge up the urge to when he saw Hermione looking so small. Still, how could they be so selfish? "Why? Because I'm 'The Chosen One?'" he said dryly.

"No Harry," Ron spoke. Harry saw that he no longer held the squashed football. A brief glance around showed that it was sitting downhill a fair few meters away. "Not because you're 'The Chosen One', but because you're our best mate. We . . ." he faded off, his entire face lit up tomato-like.

"What Ron means to say," Hermione continued, her eyes glassy, "is that, we care about you, Harry. We just don't want you getting hurt."

"But Dumbledore's coming with me."

Hermione's eyes briefly flitted to Ron before coming back. "We know that, but he's not going to always be around, is he? Not every second or every minute. There could be all sorts of strange creatures there. What if one of them snuck up on you or something?"

Harry had to concede the point. After all he had no idea what sort of things might be lurking in Middle Earth. "Alright. I get that. But still . . . what is all this about, Hermione? Surely you're more relieved than if I'd go alone?"

"Of course I am!" she said shrilly. "It's just . . . ooooh!" Harry and Ron drew back as Hermione, with fisted hands, banged the ground hard so that bits of dirt and grass scattered into the air. "Don't you get it, Harry! Ron and I can't be sure of anything! We want to go with you, and the fact that we can't . . . it's frustrating! It's a horrible feeling when we know we can't be there for you!"

"That's it?" Harry queried, glancing between his best friends. "You want to go with me because you don't want me going without you? You want it to be like it always is . . ." As Harry finished he realised he was no longer questioning them. He finally understood what they had been driving at. "You want it to be . . . just us?"

"Well not in quite so melodramatic a way," Hermione conceded, biting her lip, "but yes. As stupid as it might sound we want to protect you. We want to be there for you . . . like we always have. You shouldn't go alone."

Harry sighed. He couldn't understand why they were telling him this now . . . No, he amended, he actually could understand. Hermione had not wanted to tell him what she and Ron had obviously discussed and argued about when he hadn't been there, but Ron, being his usual self, just had to bring it up. Not that Harry blamed him, exactly. He wouldn't want Ron going off to a strange world where Harry couldn't be there to protect him either. In fact, he would be right furious if Ron was to leave him behind. But he had no choice. The only person who could come with him was Professor Dumbledore, and that only because of the connection he shared with Fawkes, whose feather resided in Harry's wand. _Both wands now_.

"Listen," Harry implored, speaking with a degree of calm and reasoning that surprised even himself as well as Ron and Hermione. "Please don't be angry, or annoyed, or whatever at me. I'm going. I have to go. I've told you why. The question is, can you accept my reason? Can you let me go without acting like gits about it?" Ron snorted. But Harry could see an amused tilt appearing in the corner of his mouth. "I could really use your support, you know. I don't . . . I don't want to leave Earth at odds with my best friends. Knowing me, I'd keep thinking about it and the pile of guilt would build and build until I'd come back to Earth just for the sake of apologising to you two."

"We're sorry Harry." Hermione smiled and sniffled at the same time. "I guess we have been acting a little selfish. I suppose we just didn't want to be left out."

"Ron?" Harry entreated, turning towards the ginger-haired boy.

"S'ppose I have been acting like a right stubborn git." He smiled a small smile. "But you know mate, if you get yourself killed in that Bottom Earth or whatever—"

"Honestly Ron, 'Bottom Earth?' The number of times we've talked about it . . . Sorry," she amended, because Ron had glared at her for interrupting.

"Anyway, just don't carck it too soon, alright?"

Harry stared at him. This was the first time Ron hadn't been too embarrassed to actually say what was on his mind. Therefore, Harry felt it was only right that he do the same. "I promise."

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Translations: Mani naa ta? What is it?

A/N: Do you guys want me to answer review questions, or respond to your reviews? I've already done a couple using that new reply thing, and I've found it agreeable. Tell me what you think.

Oh yes, and please review. Let's see if I can get to three hundred for this chapter . . . he he, only joking!


	14. Back at last!

A/N: Can you believe how fast I've updated this? I was surprised actually, because I wasn't supposed to update it until next month. I have a schedule, you see, in which I have three stories posted on this site that always have to be updated in a chronological order. This chapter was not supposed to come until I finished updating my other stories. But I was so in to it, and the reviews were so wonderful and uplifting, I thought . . . I can't disappoint everyone. So here I am again only a week and a half later. Enjoy!

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**Chapter Fourteen: Back at last!**

"Are you ready, Harry?"

Dumbledore posed that question after a long explanation on all that would be happening and all that he and Harry would be doing once they arrived in Middle Earth.

Harry had Flooed (or stumbled) into Dumbledore's office not half an hour ago and upon stumbling had been presented with his second wand, which looked exactly like his first. Grasping it, Harry had again felt that same overpowering sense of rightness as had first overtaken him so long ago in Ollivander's store. This wand _belonged_ to him; it was made for him, and no one else. Of course, the sparks that shot out of its tip also had something to say about that.

Yet he placed the wand upon Dumbledore's desk now, knowing it wouldn't do him any good to hold it. It would not be able to come with him, after all.

Now all Harry had to do was curl up on the squishy armchair Dumbledore had conjured, fall asleep, and dream of Middle Earth. Dumbledore had told him that he and Fawkes would have to be touching him for the transportation to work, so that Fawkes could get a picture in his head of where they would be going. Harry didn't mind that, but, how on earth was he going to be able to go to sleep when he was so . . . excited, nervous, and all those other harrowing emotions? Thinking this, Harry decided to fill up the time by asking a question that had been bothering him ever since this morning when he'd been speaking to Ron and Hermione and had realised something.

"I'm not ready yet, Professor, but may I ask you something?"

Dumbledore was sitting in a chair beside Harry's, Fawkes the Phoenix perched on its arm. As per usual, he was decked out in the height of wizard fashion, this time wearing a dark burgundy-coloured robe with sleeves that draped to the knees and a stiff colour that circled about his neck in a Dracula-esque sort of way. A wizard hat of the same colour sat to dangle over one shoulder with what looked like a Christmas bob attached to the end.

As Harry began to observe him even more attentively, he began to realise that the headmaster was, in fact, wearing pyjamas. The tartan slippers, obviously, gave even more credence to the fact. "Of course you may, Harry," Dumbledore now answered, giving no indication that he'd noticed Harry's thorough inspection of his person. Or if he had, he was hiding it well. "If you're feeling at all apprehensive about this it's best to get it out of the way now."

"It's not that," Harry admitted, though he had been feeling a little out of sorts. But that was only the thought of having to travel between worlds. Raised muggle, he'd heard of those science fiction shows on the tellie where the characters would jump portals in order to get to the next dimension or alternate reality. That Harry was actually experiencing this in real life (admittedly without the portal jumping) was quite bizarre to his mind. "I've just been wondering . . . well . . . you told me that I was only gone a second when the lightening bolt took me that first time. How do you know that if you weren't there?"

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "Whoever said I wasn't?"

Harry blinked a couple of times. "I-I just, assumed . . ."

Dumbledore chuckled, his beard wobbling with the movement. "Just an old man having a little sport, Harry. But you're quite right. I was in my office at the time, conversing with the Sorting Hat — but we'll be getting to that." He paused and sipped at a newly conjured drink. He cringed. "Not as good as the House Elves make it, but it'll have to do . . . oh, how remise of me, would you like a cup?"

"Yes please," said Harry, amused. He did not even know what the headmaster had been drinking.

"Forgive me, Harry," he was saying now. A shimmering sort of vapour swirled out of his wand to conjure a steaming cup. He gestured for Harry to pluck it out of the air, and Harry did so, inhaling the aroma of sweet hot chocolate. "I was in my own little thought. Now, in answer to your question, Hogwarts is filled with magic, as you know. Its very foundation was built upon, with, and by magic. It even knows when one of its own enters and leaves its premises. I, as headmaster, am linked to Hogwarts. I place my own magic upon its stones, and my own wards around its perimeter, following those of my predecessors. It is, in fact, for this very reason that Hogwarts itself automatically paints a portrait of every headmaster and headmistress that has ever walked its halls when he or she die.

"In short, I knew you had left the grounds because Hogwarts told me. Or rather, the magic holding Hogwarts together told me. Just as it had told me when you came back."

"Which brings me to my other question," Harry said before Dumbledore could continue.

The headmaster did not even look surprised, as if he had been expecting Harry to ask another question all along. "Go on," he said politely.

"It's actually been bothering me a lot," Harry admitted, and again Dumbledore did not look surprised. "How could you have gotten the Sorting Hat to me, in Middle Earth, when here, on Earth, I was only gone a second?"

Dumbledore beamed. "I know what you're thinking, Harry, and it's not that at all. I did not travel back in time and send the Sorting Hat to Middle Earth." At Harry's disappointed look, he added, "but it was a very educated guess nonetheless, no doubt brought upon by personal experience."

"No doubt," Harry agreed, mumbling. Then he took a sip of chocolate in order to hide his face. He had been so sure that that was what Dumbledore had done.

"Yes, you were only gone a second, but remember it took you at least thirty minutes to use the lavatories, walk down to the Forbidden Forest, then change your mind and walk to the Quidditch Pitch."

Briefly wondering how Dumbledore could possibly know that, then dismissing it as another eccentric headmaster trait, Harry guessed, "And in those thirty minutes you sent the Sorting Hat?"

"I did not know of the relation that space and time had with travelling to different worlds. And I still don't," he added with a chuckle. "I was working on the assumption that the Hat would float about in the in between void of space and time until it felt you in whatever world you would turn up in, and subsequently, go there. As it turns out, I needn't have worried. The Hat took a week to reach you in that world, despite my having spelled it away before you had left. And all this because that dimension is different to our own. It's very complicated to explain, even I don't entirely understand half of what I've just said, but I think you have at least some idea now."

Harry did, but the idea was so convoluted and so hard to get his head around that he gave up even trying. Besides, he was feeling a little drowsy. The warmth of the fire coupled with the chocolate was extremely pleasing to his senses and his eyelids felt like bricks. Had Dumbledore put something in his drink . . .?

Vaguely he heard a clatter as the cup fell from his hand and onto the floor, a kind voice saying, "Sleep now . . ."

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The smell of grass and dirt was what woke Harry. Or, it could even have been the harsh sneeze that had come from his own mouth. Whatever it was, Harry was awake now. He sat up and looked around.

The first thing that caught his notice was Dumbledore. The headmaster was lying propped up against a tree trunk in resplendent robes of a midnight blue colour that had upon its canvas little silvers stars that seemed inclined to wink in and out every so often. His hands lay folded beneath his long beard and he was snoring away peacefully. With every expelled snore his moustache would quiver slightly. Fawkes stood beside him, ever the vigilant bodyguard with the watchful eye. His watchful eye was now watching that quivering moustache with a curious sort of glint, as though he were picturing a wriggling worm in place of that piece of scraggly hair. Harry could not help wondering if Fawkes had had anything to eat yet. But then he remembered it didn't matter; Phoenixes were vegetarian.

They were on the outskirts of a forest. Fangorn Forest Harry decided as he looked about at the huge twisting trees and smelled the tightly enclosed air that hovered before him. Beside him lay his missing Firebolt, elvish sword, cloak, shoes, hat, and socks. A brief glance down at himself showed that he was wearing his own clothes, the ones that had been left behind in Middle Earth. Dumbledore must have already dressed him and then conjured robes for himself . . . which meant that he had found Harry's wand!

_Of course he found it, idiot! He wouldn't have been able to come to Middle Earth otherwise!_

They had probably even landed on top of it. Considering his wand was left inside Fangorn at the time of his departure meant that either Dumbledore or Fawkes had apparated them out. Dumbledore wouldn't have been able to because Harry's magic didn't work inside Fangorn, so it must have been Fawkes.

Harry scrambled to his feet, stretching out the kinks and knots that had appeared in his lower back. He did not even remember going to sleep. But he must have if he was back in Middle Earth. He recalled tasting chocolate and then nothing. Very strange.

The thought of chocolate brought forth a _loud_ gurgle from the pit of his stomach.

"Delighted to meet you as well," the still sleeping headmaster mumbled in response.

Harry grinned fondly. Yes, it would be just like Dumbledore to talk in his sleep.

He walked over to the snoozing old wizard. It was time to get going. He wanted to find his friends. "Professor," he whispered, and then frowned at himself. If you wanted to wake someone up you wouldn't whisper, would you. "Professor!" he said, and this time loudly.

Harry discovered in that moment that Dumbledore did not wake up like normal people. There was no making of the funny sleepy noises or rubbing of the eyes as happened when a person usually woke up. No, none of that. Dumbledore just opened his eyes and that was it. One second he was asleep the next he was awake. Harry decided to file it under his 'Eccentric Headmaster' list (which was growing quite long already) and leave it at that.

"Ah yes," he was saying now, and stood up with a grace that belied his age. His long robes swished with the movement. In fact they were so long that Harry couldn't see his feet. "I believe this belongs to you, Harry." From out of his sleeve Dumbledore pulled out Harry's wand and handed it to him. He pocketed it.

Then Dumbledore unhooked a funny looking round gold thing from his belt and flipped it open. Planets, stars, and what looked like the entirety of space whirled around in that small container before he clicked it closed with a small sigh. "It doesn't matter," he muttered before turning to Harry with a smile. "Would you like some lunch, or some breakfast? I don't know what time it is exactly, though it feels like late morning."

They ended up having lunch. Dumbledore transfigured a rock into a chicken and conjured several bottles of pumpkin juice. The ease with which he did this did not escape Harry's notice, especially when he was using an unfamiliar wand. It was mind-boggling, the sort of power he wielded. Harry recalled back to the time he was put on trial for the use of underage magic, how Dumbledore had conjured a chintz armchair for himself, and how the other wizards and witches had looked on enviously. The brief thought Harry had that Dumbledore might be able to teach him this trick vanished. Quite obviously only powerful wizards could do so and no one else; wizards like McGonagall and even his own father. Harry was told by both Dumbledore and Sirius that James Potter had been good at Transfiguration.

After "elevensies" as Pippin would say they packed all the necessary provisions (such as the extra chicken they hadn't been able to finish and a half bottle of pumpkin juice) before Dumbledore proclaimed it was time to get going.

"Though where we have to go is up to you, Harry. I have no knowledge of this world except that which you've told me. I'm in your hands from now on. But if I might make a suggestion . . ."

"By all means!" Harry said quickly. He did not exactly relish the thought that Dumbledore (the most powerful wizard ever!) was now dependant on _him_ — at least geographically dependant, of which even Harry only had his previous memories to go by, and the things that Aragorn, Gimli, and the rest had told him in passing.

Dumbledore had transfigured a pair of half-moon glasses for himself and was now looking at Harry from beneath them. "Before you came back to Hogwarts I believe you and your friends were searching for two, er, . . ."

"Hobbits, Sir."

"Thank you. Hobbits. Delightful name." Dumbledore blinked as if to clear his thoughts. "You were searching for two Hobbits. Might you wish to continue that search?"

Harry blinked. "That's . . . I mean . . . Yes! The others might have found them already, though. But that doesn't matter because we'll find everyone then!"

Dumbledore nodded encouragingly as Harry took out his wand and placed it flat on his palm. "Point me Pippin."

A slow sort of spin started first, as was customary with this spell so Harry didn't think anything of it. But when his wand sped up alarmingly so that it now resembled blender blades Harry hastily reversed the spell in case he got cut.

Dumbledore, in his typical way revealed, "That's not so unusual. If the person or object you're looking for is out of range than that spell might not work."

Harry bit his lip. "Yes," he agreed. "But from what I saw and what everyone told me I never got the impression Middle Earth was a big place. There's only one other option — Pippin must be in a magical area. That's the only reason why my wand wouldn't be able to find him. Unless . . . unless he's . . ." Harry didn't even want to finish the thought. Shaking his head, he continued. "He could even be in Fangorn Forest right now. Which means Aragorn and the rest might be as well. We won't be able to find them!"

Harry tried not to show his frustration over that, but Dumbledore must have picked up on it anyway. He smiled comfortingly. "Don't discount your other friends yet, Harry. Try the spell again. It won't hurt."

Harry agreed.

It was touch and go from then on. While trying to find Merry's direction his wand just did the same thing as when he'd tried to find Pippin. Both Harry and Dumbledore agreed that the two hobbits must be together. Just to confirm this Harry did the spell individually for Frodo, Sam, and after a thought, Gollum. They were all in the same place. Aragorn, it turned out, was the only one who was all by himself. But he wasn't that far away from Legolas, Gimli, and Boromir, who were also all in the same place.

"Have you any thoughts on whom you want to follow?" Dumbledore asked quietly when Harry had finished.

"Aragorn," Harry said immediately. "He was sort of . . . the leader after Gandalf died. He should know what happened to Merry and Pippin, and everyone else." Harry clenched his fist around his wand. "I don't even know how much time has passed! Has it been a second? A week? Three Weeks?"

"Judging by how long it took your wand to find Gimli, Legolas, and Boromir, I believe they're called, is not as long as it took your wand to find the other two hobbits, Frodo and Sam. You must calculate, Harry. If you spent a night in this Forest," the headmaster gestured with a sweep of his arm to the forest behind him, "and you say it had taken you three or more days to reach it after you left the Anduin River, that's four days accounted for which your friends have been travelling to this Mordor place."

"Right," Harry said. He understood maths.

"Considering it took your wand twice as long to find Frodo and Sam as it did your other friends I would say you should add at least four more days to the four that have already been accounted for."

"So what you're saying is that I was gone for four or more days?"

"It is only a speculated guess, Harry. Hardly worth basing any assumptions on, but since that is the only option we have at the moment . . ." Dumbledore trailed off with a slight apologetic shrug. "We have no idea if your four friends stopped to rest in one place for a matter of days, which could account for why this Aragorn is separated from them, or if those two Hobbits and that Gollum character doubled back for some reason, thereby decreasing the amount of time it took your wand to find them."

Now Harry was getting confused. "I suppose it doesn't matter anyway, Professor," he said eventually, staring at his still-as-the-dead wand. "When we find Aragorn I'm sure he'll tell us how long I've been gone."

"Very well then," Dumbledore acquiesced. "Are we ready to depart?"

Harry froze in mid-nod. "Hang on, Professor . . . How will you be able to travel? You don't have a broom."

A slight smile began on the ends of Dumbledore's wrinkly mouth. "No," he confirmed. "But I have something better, as do you."

Somehow, Harry knew what Dumbledore was talking about, and he let his gaze rest on the Phoenix standing on the ground between them pecking away at some grass. Fawkes could apparate them, couldn't he? That, or he'd carry them all the way to Aragorn's destination.

"So Fawkes will apparate us?" Harry guessed, looking expectantly at his headmaster.

Dumbledore, however, shook his head. "No. He has not the visual for that, and neither do I. If either Fawkes or I try to apparate to Aragorn when we haven't ever been to that place we could end up hundreds of miles away from our intended destination."

Harry looked down at his Firebolt which was clutched tightly in one hand. "So I'll ride my broom . . . and I guess you'll hold on to Fawkes."

"That may be the best thing to do," Dumbledore agreed, staring thoughtfully up at the sky. "That way you, Harry, can periodically check your wand for directions."

Harry had to agree it was the best way, though he still felt anxious to find Aragorn. It might make him seem impatient, but he wished they could have used Fawkes to apparate.

"What about when we finally spot Aragorn in the distance, and we apparate to him?" Harry offered as an alternative, certain that Dumbledore would see through his calm manner to the impatience underneath, but the headmaster simply smiled.

"Whatever you think is best."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

It had been a mere hour or so since he had seen the configuration of the Uruk-Hai soldiers marching onwards in what appeared to be the direction of Helm's Deep. A great salivating, irrepressible force they were, entirely unbeatable, and definitely not as gormless as their orc cousins. Aragorn could fair see the intelligence simmering from their bolstering eye sockets, even from a distance away. Nay, these were not orcs.

Aragorn clenched his teeth as a particularly vigorous bounce from Brego jarred the no doubt purpling bruise on in his side. The piece of rock had struck a scant instance below the ribcage — a fleshy, vulnerable spot. But then, he had survived. A feat he had not thought could be accomplished falling from a cliff many a distance high, and with a great slavering, wriggling warg still attached to his arm. But he had done it.

_Would that the pain would only cease_, he thought to himself in a grumble. But he was grateful as it was. Grateful to be given another chance. Eru knew he had enough of those, though. It brought to mind his adventure with the orcs just outside of Bruinen, near thirty winters passed. He had been gutted like a boar on a skewer ready for the feasting but he had survived in credit to the hasty actions of the Peredhel twins and the skills of their father, Lord Elrond. He had not even a scar to show for that escapade.

The ranger sighed to himself. He could not help wishing now that his brothers-of-the-heart if not in blood were with him. Though, they would surely have a good laugh at his expense.

"Estel," Elladan would say whilst frowning a little, "must you always be getting yourself into scrapes you only just manage to flee from?"

"Aye, he does that so well. And leaving us with the cleaning up, is that not so brother?" Elrohir would finish, just as sternly.

The use of the words, "cleaning up" had always been their teasing way of demonstrating the seriousness or lack thereof of his wounds.

Wondering vaguely just when his luck would run out ("For surely the blessing the Valar bequeathed him would have run out by now," as the twins were fond of saying) Aragorn nearly fell from his horse as it reared in response to the great _boom_ that seemed as if it split the sky. Not even seconds later bright flames of sunlit orange and yellow sprang in a glare before him.

This so startled the normally stoic ranger (it was not a usual occurrence to have flames appear in front of one's face out of mid-air after all) that this time he did fall off his horse.

"Ahh!" he cried, landing on his injured side.

Ears that had been honed in the depths of silent forests throughout his travels in Middle Earth, and which, consequently, could hear better than those of his mortal brethren, caught the sound of an old surprised voice saying, "Merlin's Beard," very conversationally. As though all this were a usual occurrence. Though he knew not the meaning of the words Aragorn still almost snorted. Only a wizard would behave so.

"That's Aragorn, Professor!" A brief shuffling scuffle, before: "Aragorn? Aragorn can you hear me?"

A shadow moved over his face, blocking out the light of the sun. He squinted his eyes. "Harry Potter," he said, having already guessed by the frantic voice just who was leaning over him.

Harry smiled, his fair green eyes alight with happiness. "Yeah, it's me. What are you doing way out here in the middle of nowhere? D'you need help getting up? Wait, don't answer that."

"We thought you dead." Aragorn groaned quietly as the lad grabbed a hold of his arms and hoisted him up.

"I was gone that long then?" was what came back at him. "But never mind. I'm not dead. I went back to my world, and Professor Dumbledore came back with me. Good thing too. By that army of orcs we spotted on our flight over here, I'd say you're gonna need a lot of help."

Aragorn did not process the rest of Harry's sentence beyond "Professor Dumbledore" but simply stared at the man Harry had pointed to, truly stunned.

He was a wizard; there was no happenstance about it. And he looked so much like his dear friend Mithrandir that the ranger cocked his head to the side and let his eyes narrow, unaware that he was doing so.

He wore a robe of stars that captured the heavens in all their glory. Never had the ranger seen such a garment as this. T'was as if he had plucked the stars right out of the sky and set them into the tapestry of his robe to forever reside in silent, twinkling repose.

_But who knows,_ Aragorn thought to himself suddenly. _Mayhap he did just that._

He had no knowledge, after all, of the sort of magic wizard's of Harry's ilk wielded. And seldom had he seen the magic of an Istar wizard used at all except in a few instances when the Fellowship was still unbroken, and Gandalf had used a spell to light fire and other such things.

The man, Pro-fess-uhard he was called, had a beard longer than Gandalf's, and hair of the same length. All pure white. He had perched on his nose a pair of the same thin wires filled in with glass, though unlike Harry's they were only half a circle and also golden, as if they sat there on purpose to capture the glinting sun. Briefly, Aragorn wondered whether all wizards in Harry's world wear such jewellery, and if this jewellery was a means to see passed long distances, like he himself had done with those Omnioculars. For surely they had some purpose other than to frame the eyes?

But perhaps the most fascinating aspect of his appearance was the magnificent creature perched majestically upon an outstretched arm, no less unusual-looking than its master. Gold and red was this creature's feathers, and its eyes held a peculiar intelligence, more so than even Hedwig.

Aragorn was reminded of the Maia. But this bird could not be that. It had come from a different world after all, and as far as he knew, there were no Maia there.

"Good day to you, sir," Aragorn said, remembering his manners too late. He also thought what a fool he must have looked like standing there staring for such a long while.

But the wizard merely inclined his head, looking puzzled.

"Oh no," he heard Harry say. Then the boy started jabbering away at his mentor in a completely alien language. Those green eyes flew back to his own. "I forgot. Dumbledore doesn't speak Westron."

"Dumbler-door?" Aragorn asked, bewildered.

A blank look was what greeted him, before Harry blinked. "Oh, sorry. I forgot to introduce you. Er, Aragorn, this is Professor Albus Dumbledore . . . but you can call him Albus I suppose. It's easier to pronounce."

Aragorn placed a hand over his heart in the customary elvish gesture of greeting. "Well met, Al-bus," he said, stuttering a little over the foreign sounding the name.

Despite not knowing the words Aragorn spoke Albus must have guessed what he had said either way, and jabbered something in return. It must have been akin to "Delighted to meet you," the ranger thought, because he smiled as he said it. Then something truly bizarre happened. Albus extended his arm, his hand held out.

The ranger stared.

"You're supposed to shake it," Harry whispered to him, chortling.

A little awkwardly, Aragorn did so. Eru, but these wizards were strange!

Harry watched Dumbledore and Aragorn shake hands, wanting to kick himself. He had completely forgotten that he had hadn't been able to speak Westron when he'd first arrived in Middle Earth. As soon as he'd realised, he had asked Dumbledore if he could do some sort of language translating spell, but the old man hadn't been able to. Apparently, you needed a sort of dictionary with both languages in it. Only then could you spell the language into your own head. Since Dumbledore didn't have that, he could only communicative via Harry from now on.

"Listen Aragorn," Harry said to the ranger after he and Dumbledore had finished observing each other, "we saw that great smelly army marching in this direction and we figured you could use a lift to wherever you have to go, and I'm hoping the others are there. Did you find Merry and Pippin by the way? Only, I don't know as I haven't been here . . ."

Aragorn's head tilted ever so slightly to the left, as if he troubling working out what to answer first. "Aye, we found the hobbits," he confirmed at last. "Or rather, Gandalf found the hobbits. Nigh on a week past. And yes—"

"Hang on, backtrack a little there. What d'you mean 'Gandalf?'" Harry asked quickly, and not giving Aragorn a chance to answer he continued, "Gandalf . . . I mean he's dead . . . isn't he? You can't just come back to life can you!"

"Be at ease Harry mellon," Aragorn said quietly, placing both hands on the boy's shoulders. "Gandalf is a Maia. All wizards are Maia."

"And that means . . . ?"

"It means they are immortal. Very rarely do they die, and when they do, they are brought back to life . . . apparently."

Those beautiful green eyes blinked. "Oh." Then narrowed in suspicion. "And, you didn't know that before?"

Aragorn shook his head.

"Oh," he said again. "Anyway, do you want a lift? I mean, it's probably better that you get to where you have to go faster, right? Especially with that army of orcs . . . I'll be riding my broom, and Fawkes will take you, Dumbledore, and . . ." Harry paused as he stared at Aragorn's horse, who was munching away happily at some grass, ". . . and, er, Brego is it? You just have to tell us the name of the place you want to go to."

Though Aragorn had no idea what a "Farks" was, and certainly had even a lesser idea of how the "Farks" would be able to carry two men and a horse, but he had learned not to question wizards recently because they were often in the right and had instead begun to trust their mysterious doings. That, and they would frequently become bad-tempered and irritable ere you said anything to oppose them. Aragorn was a smart man and readily agreed to Harry's plan, though he knew not what it was about.

"Brilliant!" Harry said now, his cheeks aglow with enthusiasm. "So, Helm's Deep it is then."

Naught five minutes later the ranger found himself dangling from the old wizard's gnarled hand, his own holding onto Brego's stirrup. A curious feeling of lightness encompassed him, as if he could float away with the breeze, and Brego suddenly weighed no more than a mere feather, if that. "Fawkes" had turned out to be the strange orange bird, who, as it also turned out, had even stranger magic.

Aragorn gazed about in wonder, finally knowing what Harry must have seen every time he rode his broom. His eyes were going where no man's eyes had treaded before. The rocks and trees below him seemed mere specs on the ground. Fangorn looked immense even from this distance, yet still old and proud, clumped in rigidness. Beyond Fangorn and its surrounding mountains stood the high tower of Orthanc, no more than a paltry toothpick. Aragorn could even see Helm's Deep at this very moment, sitting amidst neighbouring mountain ranges, so high up were they. He had ne'er travelled so swiftly before. Most times the ground below looked only as a haze of colours and shapes, blurring together as if satchels of paint had been spilt.

The ranger also imagined he should feel the biting coldness of the wind against his skin, but he did not. All he did feel was a pleasant tingle. The magic of Fawkes, he suspected, was once again at fault.

Harry flew by their sides, occasionally glancing down at his wand. Oft times he would confer with either Albus or Aragorn, then he would glance down again.

"Is that Helm's Deep!" Harry shouted between the wind.

Aragorn nodded. His belly was suddenly feeling a might tumble-turvy, and did not trust himself to speak, lest he . . . well . . .

"All right," Harry muttered. "Professor . . ." and Aragorn did not understand ought else he said, as it was all in his foreign tongue. Albus and Harry conferred with each other a little while, then they stopped their progress of flight completely. Aragorn had to shake his head at these wizards. T'was an odd sight they made for sure, hanging together in nothingness with only a bird's tail feather to keep them from falling.

"Aragorn," Harry said imploringly, and the ranger to look at his young friend. "Where going to apparate to this King Theoden now. Apparating is, er, how am I going to explain this . . . apparating is going from one place to another in a split second."

Aragorn was silent for the nonce. "This is possible?" he finally questioned.

"Er, yeah," Harry said, then shrugged apologetically. "Just to warn you though . . . what?"

Aragorn was shaking his head. "Tis only that I hate it when you say that. Some strange new wonder is want to greet me in return."

Harry merely grinned. "I have to warn you because it's not really a pleasant sensation. It's going to feel like . . . a giant hand is squeezing you to death."

The ranger said softly, "What."

"Oh, it won't kill you," Harry said quickly at the panicked look on Aragorn's face. He was also looking at Harry as though he belonged in a circus, but the panicked look overrode that. "It'll just feel really horrible. You get used to it, though!" Harry finished cheerfully.

Aragorn merely shook his head. "I would not think that I should "get used to it." I do not plan on travelling this way again. But, I have trusted you thus far, and your magic has only been used to help. I have observed this. I will continue to trust you, Harry, if only because you are my friend and I know you are an honourable child."

Though Harry bristled at being called "child", a wonderfully pleasant feeling blossomed in his chest nonetheless. Pride. "Thank you," he said sincerely.

Aragorn nodded sideways in return.

Harry grabbed hold of his arm. "We're ready, Professor," he told Dumbledore, who'd been watching his and Aragorn's conversation with knowing eyes.

"Very good," Dumbledore said and looked up at Fawkes. Nothing was said between the headmaster and the Phoenix but in the next second they were all on fire and Harry felt a squeezing sensation that was very like a giant hand wrangling the life out of him, or a cork popping out of a bottle of champagne, before:

_POP!_

Voices raised in heavy alarm greeted them. Shouts, exclamations and, Harry even thought someone yelled something about Saruman and his magic before Fawkes deposited them gently onto the ground.

They had landed in a great hall, though not nearly the size of Hogwarts'. People rushed about in complete panicked confusion at the spectacle they had no doubt made just popping in like that. Though, there were not a lot of people Harry had to admit. Boromir, Legolas, and Gimli he all knew. They were standing off to one side, their mouths wide open. The few other people that were there Harry didn't know, but he thought one of them must have been a king. He had shoulder length blonde hair and beard and held himself like Draco Malfoy. But more importantly, he was richly dressed.

Boromir, Legolas, and Gimli finally snapped out of whatever stupor they had been in, and rushed to their sides. Legolas and Boromir actually _hugged_ them and Gimli patted them so hard on the back in his happiness that their knees buckled. Both he and Aragorn were greeted with various degrees of disbelief.

"My eyes must be deceiving me," Boromir said, his hands on both of one of their shoulders. "First Gandalf, and now you two. Will a member of this Fellowship never stay dead? And dead you should be, the both of you, yet here you stand as if nothing ever happened. And the manner of your return . . ." he trailed off as he spotted Fawkes and Dumbledore standing politely next to Aragorn's horse, which was lying on the floor, still stupefied.

There was silence in the hall as all looked at Dumbledore. They could clearly see he was a wizard, but not like any wizard they had ever come across.

"Just a minute," Harry said, oblivious to the heads jerking to look at him. He pointed his wand at Brego. "Enervarte."

Mutterings sounded as Brego got up and trotted over to Aragorn, obviously healthy.

"What goes on here?" the king said, looking as if he could barely contain his shock, bewilderment, shock, and annoyance all at once.

"There are more important things to worry over," Aragorn interjected impatiently when it looked like Harry was going to answer. "An army of Uruk-Hai marches forth from Isenguard. Ten thousand strong at least."

Theoden froze. "Ten thousand?" He repeated, horror visible on every feature of his face.

"They were bred for a single purpose. To destroy the world of men. They will be here by nightfall."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"So that was Gandalf I blasted across the clearing in Fangorn," Harry observed as he and Gimli made their way down to the Deeping Wall where Dumbledore and assorted other curious peoples were standing by the sewer entrance. "Was he hurt then?"

"Nay," Gimli said hoisting his battleaxe over one shoulder. "Just petulant, as usual. But wizards tend to be that . . ." he trailed off and looked at Harry, as if thinking it wouldn't be good for his health to finish that sentence in front of a wizard.

Harry laughed. "It's alright, Gimli. Gandalf is kinda grumpy sometimes."

Gimli chuckled, obviously pleased by Harry's good mood. "Aye, he is that. Now what is that fellow up to?"

Dumbledore, with Harry's wand in hand, was flicking away (much to the bafflement of the people around him). Phosphorescent blue, white, and gold beams of light would shoot out occasionally to be absorbed into the wall. "He's putting up wards. Sort of like extra walls made of magic. He's reinforcing the wall that already exists. Making it stronger in other words."

Gimli nodded approvingly. "Theoden must use all the help he can get. I must admit my spirits have long since risen ere I knew we would have the use of two wizards in this battle."

Harry didn't want to tell Gimli that there wouldn't even really be a battle after Dumbledore was finished. He'd already garnered enough odd looks this afternoon; he didn't need one from his friend also.

They had reached the sewer entrance. People hurriedly made way when they saw Harry. A young boy of no more than three hid behind his father's leg when Harry smiled at him.

"Worry not, lad," Gimli whispered to him. "They think elves are strange folk, and wizards even stranger. Your Albus's magic is no doubt scaring them out of their wits."

"Then why do they stay and watch?" Harry asked through gritted teeth.

"Curiosity was the downfall of many a man," Gimli said wisely, and Harry imagined that he if he had a pipe the dwarf would be puffing it now.

"Good afternoon, Harry," Dumbledore said as he and Gimli came to a standstill beside him, making sure not to step in the large puddle of water that sat under and a little ways after the wall. He nodded to Gimli in greeting. "I have yet to do the main gate, but the wall is almost completed. Have you told your friends not to worry . . .?"

"No," Harry said, and looked away when Dumbledore stared at him reprovingly.

"You cause them to worry needlessly then."

"I don't want them looking at me strange, Professor," Harry defended himself. "They've never seen this sort of magic before. In fact, magic in this world is hardly ever used physically to defend. It just doesn't work that way. They wouldn't understand. It's better if they see if for themselves."

"If you think that's best . . ."

"I do," Harry said forcefully.

"I'll leave the decision up to you then. You know more than I, as I'm a stranger here," Dumbledore sighed and flicked his wand one last time. "That's that. I'm off to the gate now."

Before Dumbledore had a chance to disappear, Harry asked, "That won't stop us from being able to go in again, will it?"

Dumbledore chuckled. "I am no amateur, Harry." And with a short _crack _that left the surrounding people skittering back in awe and terror Dumbledore disapparated. He reapparated in front of the gates (where luckily, the king, Aragorn, Boromir, Legolas, and couple of other important officials had only just vacated) and started casting spells almost immediately.

Gimli sputtered. "Such power. And you can do that?"

"No," Harry said, a little wistfully. "I'm underage. I have to wait until I'm seventeen to learn."

"And you like it not," Gimli observed. "Very handy in a tight spot, that technique."

"I never thought about it, but I guess your right," Harry said thoughtfully. "It's just, in my world nearly every wizard can apparate, no matter if they're evil or good. I guess it doesn't seem really important when the other side can do it too."

"But you are not in your world now, lad," the dwarf pointed out.

Harry blinked, surprised. "You're right, Gimli. I can learn it right now if I want to, and the Ministry can go rot!"

Gimli obviously didn't know what a Ministry was by the look on his face, but he seemed pleased that Harry was pleased.

The sky continued to darken in the few hours that Gimli and Harry travelled around the keep. Occasionally they met up with either Legolas, Boromir, or Aragorn and they would join them for quick tour. Already the alleys had been emptied of all women and most children. The ones nine and above were to fight in the battle. Harry watched as a little boy that looked no bigger than eight got outfitted in full armour complete with sword and shield. Harry shook his head. Then he smiled. _They won't need to fight_.

Everyone insisted that Harry get armour at least, even though he told them not to bother.

"You're magic cannot always protect you from an orc arrow you cannot see ere it strikes you in the back," Aragorn said in a very fatherly way, and yanked a suit of chain mail down over his head.

"But Aragorn," Harry protested, his voice muffled.

"Not a word, young one."

And that was the end of Harry's protesting.

Harry, Gimli, and Boromir were pottering around the armoury, the dwarf describing in minute detail the strength, durability, steel etc, of every sword they came across. "Of course, not as good as Dwarvish make, but then, there can be no match," he said very conversationally.

Boromir snorted. "Axe's and scythes mayhap, but sword-make I must credit to the Elves."

Gimli blustered indignantly. "I'll have you know, Son of Denethor, that Elvish weapons are made more for the show than for the strength. Why look at this." He plucked Harry's sword from its sheath and gave it a few experimental waves. "As a light as a feather. Not much damage can be done I'd wager, whilst using this. An axe strong enough to sever Uruk heads with its mighty steel, give me, and we shall see which weapon will come out the winner!" He emphasised this sentence by swinging the sword around once more, accidentally nicking his other hand in the process. "Oh!" he yelped, and sucked on the offended finger.

Harry and Boromir exchanged looks then had to turn away when they threatened to burst out laughing.

"You ought to be careful with that, Gimli," Harry said. "Elvish swords are quite sharp I gather."

Gimli merely harrumphed and, grumbling, handed Harry back his sword.

It was around this time that Legolas and Aragorn got into an argument about something that no one could understand, as they spoke in elvish. But they sort of got the gist when Aragorn shouted "Then I shall die as one of them!" before storming out of the armoury.

It was quiet after that.

Harry decided to find Dumbledore as he had disappeared a couple of hours ago after the wards had all been put up. It didn't take him long. His headmaster sat lightly snoring in a throne chair at the end of the great hall, Fawkes perched on an armrest. Theoden and his councillor, Gamling, were bent over a table, no doubt organising a strategy. They looked up when Harry entered.

"Sorry, I just wanted to talk to Dumbledore, but he's asleep now so I guess I'll just go." He turned around, intent on walking out of the double doors, but the king's voice stopped him.

"I would like very much to speak with you, Master Potter."

Harry tried to act like he wasn't surprised, and walked towards the table. Gamling nodded at him, looking a little wary. "Erm, it's just Harry, if you want."

The king blinked. "Very well. Harry. I have spoken to Boromir, Denethor's son, and he has told me of the magic you and Albus Dumbledore have placed around this keep. And I have seen this magic with my own eyes. Rohan is not your country, nor does Helm's Deep hold any special significance for you. You did not need to expend the effort to defend it, yet you have done so. For that I thank you as well."

"I didn't really do anything," Harry protested. "I mean, Dumbledore . . ."

Theoden flapped a hand. "Nonsense. You did much. Aragorn spoke very highly of you when he thought you still dead. He told me of your deeds and of your courage."

_Aragorn told a king that I'm brave?_ Harry tried not to smile. "Okay."

"I was much heartened with the knowledge that two wizards would fight with us against Saruman's foul abominations."

"You're not the only one," Harry said. _Was that the way to talk to a king?_

"I imagine not. Many are feeling the weight of impending battle ease most considerably now the rumours have spread that you and Master Dumbledore are in our midst."

"Oh, well, it was nothing really."

"Modest, as most wizards, I see," the king smiled almost fondly. "Nothing changes in that at least."

Harry only smiled politely.

The king smiled back, glanced at Gamling, then Dumbledore, then back at Harry. "I will leave you alone." He gestured for Gambling to follow him out the doors, stopped for a moment to place a hand on Harry's shoulder, then both men were gone.

Harry stared at the doors the king had just walked through. He had the feeling Theoden was very grateful, and Harry never really did well with praise. That was more Hermione's forte. But this time, he felt he should accept it gracefully and continue on. Theoden had seemed almost . . . relieved.

Harry shook his head and walked up to Dumbledore. He stopped in front of the throne chair, staring at Fawkes, who stared back.

"_Hem_, Professor."

Dumbledore made a mumbling sound and opened his eyes blearily.

Harry frowned. Dumbledore didn't usually wake up like that, did he? "Are you alright, sir?"

Dumbledore smiled wearily and sat up in a more comfortable position. "A little tired, Harry. The magic I expended in order to cast the wards wore me out unfortunately."

Harry sat by the step next to the throne and looked up. "Is that even possible? I thought we couldn't really exhaust our magic. It's part of us, isn't it? That's what Hermione says anyway."

Dumbledore nodded approvingly. "Yes, that's true. But ever since I came to this world I find myself becoming more and more . . . fatigued."

Harry sat up in alarm. "What! Are you going to be alright?"

Dumbledore held up his hands. "Calm, Harry. For now, I'm fine. I just shouldn't use anymore magic."

Harry relaxed at that, but something was niggling at his thoughts nevertheless. "How come that didn't ever happen to me? I used a lot of magic when I first came here."

"That is because you belong here, Harry," Dumbledore explained, enjoying the shocked look on his student's face. "You were meant to be here. I wasn't. My very presence in this universe is causing a disruption of sorts, which explains my tiredness. It is, in theoretical fact, telling me to go away. If I were a muggle I expect I would have passed out long ago . . . That is why I'm going to have to go back soon. After the battle is over," he added when Harry opened his mouth to object. "If I leave now I suspect all my wards will leave with me. Similarly, if I use anymore magic I am likely to fall unconscious, thereby destabilizing the wards anyway. I cannot use anymore magic, but I will stay to keep the wards up."

The only thing Harry could think to say to all that (because he was in such a state of shock) was, "What about Fawkes, is he tired?"

Dumbledore allowed himself a smile. "Remarkably, no. He is immortal, after all, and entirely magical. Perhaps it takes longer for him? As it took longer with me in comparison to a muggle. Don't fret Harry," Dumbledore said kindly, patting him on the head as a beloved grandfather would do, "it was meant to be. Only you can exist here comfortably, and the rest of us must content ourselves with hearing about all your adventures after the fact. It is a lesson one must learn, and I'm happy to say that I have learnt it. No more dimension travelling for me."

"B-but . . . but what about all that stuff you said, about not leaving me here alone?"

"You can come back any time you wish," Dumbledore reminded him. "Every night if you want to," Then: "I am sorry."

"No, it's alright, Professor," Harry conceded, glad, at least, that Dumbledore had come here just in time to help against the orcs. "It's not exactly your fault, is it? I should have known something wacky like this would happen, though. It's typical of Middle Earth. But, you're all right to stand up and walk around and all that? You're not going to, pass out?"

"No, no," Dumbledore said cheerfully, and as if to prove that he could, in fact, stand up, he did just that. "It's only if I start using an abundant amount of magic will I get tired more quickly. This way, I have at least a day before I am completely worn out. So I assume."

"Good. But if you do happen to feel tired, I want you to go back to Hogwarts."

Harry felt his cheeks flush as Dumbledore continue to stare at him. He even thought he saw his eyes glisten beneath the half-moon glasses, but that could have been a trick of the candlelight, he assured himself.

"I promise," Dumbledore said quietly. "After all, I will meet you there as soon as I get back."

Harry frowned for a moment, confused. But then smiled, remembering that no time would pass on Earth while he was in Middle Earth, which meant he and Dumbledore would, in a sense, show up at the same time. Bloody confusing, as Ron would say.

A short while later after asking several boys his own age — all of whom looked on in awe as though he were some sort of mystical elf-god or something — where Aragorn was, (and getting stuttered reply's in return, one of which he was positive finished with the title "milord") Harry trotted into the back keep and down the stairs to the now almost empty armoury. Sure enough, Aragorn Legolas, and Gimli were there, chatting away happily, the elf and the ranger apparently having forgiven each other. Boromir, Harry saw, was no where to be found.

"Ah, Harry!" Gimli announced, looking comical in overly-long chain-mail. "Perhaps you can settle a debate."

"What, another one?"

"Cease your cheek, lad!" Gimli growled, giving him a fond tap on the arm. "Though you might want to keep at it when the elf's back is turned," he added in a whispered aside. "Ahem, no, Legolas here was saying that he can best more than fifty Uruks this night, and I—"

"Let me guess," Harry injected, pretending to think, "You said you'd best over fifty-one, or something."

Aragorn's hearty laughter cut off the dwarf's surprise. "He knows us too well, and Gimli especially."

"So what's to settle?" Harry asked after the chuckling had died down. "I guess you can keep count."

"But we wish to make it more interesting," Legolas said, leaning a hand on his bow. "I suggested a wager, but the dwarf is too lily-livered, afraid that his beard will be shaven off —"

"Lily-livered?" Gimli sputtered, but then stopped and looked at Harry, drawin by a strange sound. He wasn't the only one.

"Sorry," Harry breathed between guffaws, but still able to observe Legolas and Aragorn's smirks. "What will happen if Gimli wins?"

"You settled on a wager then?" Legolas asked, but didn't wait for Harry to answer. "I will be forced to . . ." he grimaced. Whatever it was, it mustn't be pleasant.

"What?"

Gimli said only one word, with great pleasure Harry noted. "Bald."

Harry did not even have a chance to react as a haunting, yet beautiful noise sounded into the room.

Legolas' eyes lit up. "That is no orc horn!" he said, and dashed out of the room and up the flight of stairs, Aragorn following. Harry and Gimli exchanged looks, but stayed where they were.

"Elves," Gimli said unnecessarily. "I am grateful for their presence, mistake me not, but even now more than ever do I wish for a company of Dwarves to come. We would split the Uruks' shields with our mighty axes and cleave their heads in two! Now come, Harry lad, help me out of this Eru-damned thing!"

Harry assisted Gimli out of his suit of chain-mail (with the dwarf grunting and grumbling, and both of them sweating with the effort. "Too tight across the chest," Gimli growled) and they both spent the next couple of minutes searching for one more akin to his size.

"Look here," Gimli blustered, appearing insulted as he held up a very small suit. "They have them in hobbit-size, but not in Dwarf!"

"It was probably meant for a small boy."

Harry was just about to offer his services for an enlargement charm when: "Ho!" Gimli breathed, his eyes lighting on something in the corner. He absently thrust the hobbit chain-mail into his Harry's chest, bounded to the corner, and from under a ratty looking shield pulled out — his exact measurement in chain-mail. "Ha ha! We lucked out! Faith, I say. Always have faith!" And he did a little jig for good measure.

And that was how Haldir found them.

Harry could only stare open-mouthed at the elf that had just come down the stairs as if floating. Aragorn, Boromir, and Legolas (looking immensely pleased) stood beside him.

"An entire complement of Elves has arrived, with Haldir as their Captain," Legolas told them excitedly, dashing forward to grab each of them by the shoulder. "Near three hundred warriors. Now come, we must . . ." He looked around, a frown appearing between his brows. "But where is Master Dumbledore?"

"Dumbledore's already done his part," Harry answered, looking down. "He's exhausted his magic putting up those wards. He's resting now, but he'll probably stroll by later and check to see if everything's holding up."

Dumbledore had wanted to be where the action was, but Harry hadn't wanted to hear of it. "You can't use magic, Professor. If by some miracle the orcs manage to access Helm's Deep, you won't be able to protect yourself. _And_ you're getting weaker," Harry had said, ushering Dumbledore back into Theoden's chair.

"Stroll?" Haldir repeated disbelievingly. "This will be a battle. You do not take a . . . a stroll into battle!"

"And a big cheery hello to you too," Harry said dryly. Gimli was the only one who made any sort of funny noise. Aragorn just sighed, and Legolas looked disappointed. Harry rolled his eyes. "Look, maybe an elf can't take a stroll into battle, but wizards certainly can, and not end up getting hurt in the process. We have . . . methods. But that doesn't matter, as no one will be getting hurt."

"And you can be so sure of that?" Haldir asked incredulously.

"No, not one hundred percent sure," Harry admitted. "Nothing is certain is it?"

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A/N: Don't hurt me peoples. You have to admit, though, Harry's and Dumbledore's magic is way more powerful than Gandalf's. At least prac-wise. And the orcs don't have any magic in them, so they have nothing to counteract Dumbledore's with. Picture them as ignorant muggles, and magic works wonders on muggles. But I'll give you a little hint: Don't assume too much.

If you're wondering, Brego was stupefied during the flight. It made more sense to stupefy a horse that had to be taken into the air. It would panic otherwise.

Bye for now and Happy Reading!

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	15. Battles are irritable at worst

Disclaimer: The lord of the rings belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien and a bunch of other people, not me.

A/N: Thanks all for the excellent reviews. I'd give you hugs and kisses but I have cold. 'Sniffle'. This is the final draft for this chapter. And believe me I had a lot of those. It was the hardest to write for some reason, but also the most enjoyable. So I hope you enjoy reading it.

I'll meet you at the bottom.

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**Chapter Fifteen: Battles are irritable at worst.**

The days past had been lush indeed. Bright tangles of colour weaved around the horizon at dawn and came back all the more magnificent at dusk. Gandalf thought to himself just how good it felt knowing the sun would always shine no matter if Sauron won or not.

After riding hard for two or more days Gandalf had found the Rohirrim encamped upon an open plain just to the south of the Westfold mountain ranges.

Eomer had exclaimed with all the passion of the Rohirrim blood in his veins when the wizard had ridden upon them unexpectedly. "We thought you dead!" he had cried, weeping tears of joy. His was not the only dry eye, and Gandalf had been unexpectedly moved. Of course he was known in Rohan quite well, but, he had thought, only as the Grey Pilgrim Wanderer who occasionally took it upon himself to abscond with Theoden's prized horses, and generally created havoc in the king's stables with his wizard muttering.

Never had he expected the sort of welcome a long lost grandfather might deserve, yet he realised that that was what he was to these good people; a grandfather who lived forever, and might some times wander into their lands to tell them stories of old, and stories of their own grandfathers.

But still they mostly remembered him for his love of Theoden's horses. The Rohirrim had stared at Shadowfax in silent appreciative awe, no doubt remembering that this horse had in fact belonged to their king before the wizard had come along. Gandalf had let them their little musings, but after a moment or so, scolded them. There were less unimportant things to be doing, he had told them, and, after explaining the affair of Wormtongue and his treachery and the king's subsequent recovery, finally got them up and moving.

"So my Uncle is free at last of Saruman's poison." Eomer said now in a very satisfied sort of way. "This is good tidings. Rohan will be enslaved no longer."

Gandalf allowed himself a small smile. "Yes Eomer. And no one, I am sure, is gladder than you of this happening."

Eomer smiled a brief moment, then his mighty shoulders slumped as if a great weight were pushing down on them. "But tell me, Gandalf. Is my sister well? The last I saw . . ." Eomer trailed off. Gandalf noticed a thickly gloved hand clench into a fist at his side.

"If you are worrying about Wormtongue and his perverted affections for Eowyn have no more worry, for that lecherous snake is no longer among us and Aragorn has dealt with him in his own way."

"By pardoning him?" Eomer scoffed.

"Sometimes an act of mercy will be all the more better for both parties in the end," Gandalf said sternly.

"The end of what? Bah, you still speak in riddles wizard!"

"You are not the first to have told me," Gandalf said. "But come, enough of this talk. We must ride swiftly and you are distracting with your endless questions. Saddle your mount." Then Gandalf had ushered Shadowfax to the already assembling cavalry, unaware that he had left a bemused young man behind.

Then it had been time to go.

Their journey had been steady and as well as any journey could go up until half a day ago when five of the horses threw a shoe. That cost them some time. Eomer took it in his stride, and even helped with the impromptu blacksmithing despite the fact that the delay lessened their chance of arriving at Helm's Deep on time.

They made a camp on the fourth day in an enclave between two large hills. If anyone was to come upon them they would not see them until they reached the top of the hills, so it made a good hiding spot. Gandalf sat cross-legged on his blanket smoking a pipe with pipe weed he had purloined from the pack of one of the younger Rohirrim. Not as good as the Old Toby, but it would have to do in these circumstances, Gandalf thought. He'd attempted chewing on some of the smoked meat that Eomer had offered him, but after ten minutes or so gave up. Rohan men must have stronger teeth than wizards.

It was at this point that Gandalf noticed something. It was very easy to notice because it seemed to scream out of the very air around him. And not just that, but the ground as well. And the mountains, the trees, the rocks . . . At first Gandalf was taken aback by this sense, for he was still not as used to his new powers as he would have liked. All he knew was a feeling that whatever it was did not belong, as though the air, the mountains, the trees, and the rocks, and everything, were want to complain about this new happening. The whole world seemed to shift out of focus suddenly, as if the wizard were looking at it through an ocean of water, then everything shifted back with a small sigh.

The Rohirrim of course had not felt anything out of the ordinary. But Gandalf had, and with this feeling also came the knowledge that a great power had entered Middle Earth. It was not an evil power, quite the opposite actually. It took a while but Gandalf noted that the power he was feeling was, in fact, two powers. One was very old and ancient, even more so than Gandalf himself. The other was stronger, but not as old. That, at least, Gandalf was sure of.

At this point Hedwig showed up, perching herself on his knee. Gandalf was particularly surprised, for she had no letter attached to her leg, which suggested she had come here on her own accord. He sensed no great discomfort from the bird, which meant Frodo and Sam were, for the most part, well. There was a lingering of something distressing, but Gandalf did not think it to be associated with the two hobbits currently wandering Mordor. Rather, Gandalf felt it had to do with Harry. But since it was only a lingering sense, he guessed that whatever it was that had distressed her so was now passed.

_Harry must have awakened_, was Gandalf's thought, before sending the owl on her way. He had thought, also, of writing a letter to Frodo, but then decided against it, mostly for the fact that he had nothing to write with and no parchment to write on. Unless Eomer had a quill secreted in his breastplate Gandalf could not see what else he could use to write with.

The fact that Hedwig had shown up right after he had sensed this new power did not escape Gandalf's shrewd nose. But what connection Harry had with it, Gandalf did not know. He contented himself to wait until they reached Helm's Deep to find out.

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He sat on his throne head in hand.

To the casual observer (not that there were any casual observers here, they wouldn't dare) he seemed as if in deep thought. But he was not, not at all. He was in fact extremely vexed. Something that had not happened in . . . ever. Not even when Gandalf threw his control of Theoden over into the swamps.

Three hours ago. It had been three hours ago now.

"Tell me again of this wizard, Wormtongue," Saruman said. "Leave out no detail, no matter how small."

The man known as Wormtongue shuffled forward from his spot against the far wall. "I did not see him, Sire. That dwarf only mentioned him in brief to one of his companions. The elf I think it was."

Saruman hit the man over the head with his staff. "Do not think, Wormtongue, you have not the mind for that! Tell."

Wormtongue stifled the urge to reach up and rub his throbbing head. "I guessed he was not among them anymore. They lost him in Fangorn I thi—I believe."

_Fangorn_, Saruman thought gleefully. That opened many possibilities. But if this wizard was the new power Saruman had sensed, then . . . his face grew as a thundercloud at the unfinished thought and unbeknownst to him Wormtongue drew back in terror. "What was it that was said, exactly?"

"Theoden had discovered my treachery by this time and the dwarf said, 'If the wizard were to come now, he would be put in a sleep no one could wake him from. That will solve all problems.' I knew they spoke not of Gandalf, for he was standing right there. And I knew they spoke not of you for, i-it did not seem . . ."

"You did well," Saruman toned, to Wormtongue's relief. "You may leave now. Help yourself to some Old Toby in the stockroom."

"Thank you my Lord," Wormtongue gushed, fairly tripping over his feet in his haste to leave.

Saruman waited until he knew Wormtongue was out of hearing range before throwing his staff across the room. It hit the doors opposite and clattered onto the stone floor. The wizard got up to pace.

It was not possible, yet the proof had been easy to come by.

_Another Maia!_

Saruman snarled. It was not enough that the Valar had sent five wizards they now had to send one more. Or two more. He stopped in mid-pace. He had felt two powers, but the older of the two — one that was older than even Saruman himself — he was not certain that it was a wizard. It seemed too pure for that.

He pacing resumed.

Never had he expected this. That the Valar would intervene. Was it not enough that Gandalf had come back from the dead, and worse, that he had become a White Wizard. _But no,_ Saruman stopped again; _this new wizard has been around for longer than that. He travelled with Elrond's Fellowship. Who knows how long he has been here. Months, or even worse, years? And right under my nose._

He shook his head at his thoughts. No, years would not be right. Gandalf, the trusting fool, would have told him.

Unless this new wizard had secreted himself away until the time came to reveal his presence, then even Gandalf would not have known.

But that still did not explain the second power Saruman had sensed. The ancient power. Unless this new wizard could somehow duplicate himself . . . as farfetched as that idea was Saruman was at the point where he would believe anything.

It wouldn't do. If a wizard, or two wizards, this powerful were now traipsing around Middle Earth, then Saruman was not sure whether his army of uruk-hai could actually defeat those flea-bitten Rohirrim.

He would have to send something else. Something improvised. There weren't many options available, and it was not as if he could cook something up in a pot. It need not be most spectacular, only something that caused some damage, and hopefully annoyed the wizard, or even better, harmed the wizard long enough for his uruks to blow up the Deeping Wall.

Luckily he was very clever.

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Never had the atmosphere been grimmer as it was that night in Helm's Deep. The elves and their unexpected arrival, of course, helped to better that atmosphere as did the two wizards, but against ten thousand uruk-hai, smarter and stronger than the average orc, all carrying ladders, and spears, and orcish weapons, and . . . well . . . the men thought it was all rather pointless. But, prepare to fight they did. Stationing themselves along the walls and behind the walls, and a couple standing by the entrance to the caves where the women were hiding. The elves commandeered an entire right quarter of the keep, and then some.

A few of the older boys, ten and seven winters or thereabouts, were inclined to tilt their heads and look for that mysterious Istar with the youthful face and the strange green eyes, but seldom did they spot him. It seemed he was with the elves at one time, and the next they looked he was strolling out of the side doors, cheery as you please, chattering with Lord Aragorn. At one point he even seemed to be eating something. Roasted chicken if they were not mistaken. How one could eat at a time like this was beyond them. The uruks had yet to arrive, it was true, but they could still be seen on the horizon with their glowing torches held steadfastly aloft. Wizards, they decided, thinking back to Gandalf and his mysterious ways, were odd. They always seemed as if nothing could faze them.

Harry Potter himself was oblivious to this intense speculating. First he was woken from a short nap in the armoury (twenty pleasant minutes or so) by Legolas and some of his elven chums who were taking a tour around Helm's Deep. They had seemed taken aback that he had actually fallen asleep before the big battle at all.

"I was tired!" Harry had defended himself. "It's not that big a deal!"

But this only served to make him appear even more strange to their eyes. Legolas, of course, thought the whole thing was amusing as he was used to Harry and his antics by now.

"Leave him be," he had said to the other elves in Harry's defence. "If he wishes to sleep and save his strength, then all the better for him."

"Yeah," Harry had agreed, nodding along.

But before Legolas could disappear with the other elves Harry had asked to borrow one of his arrows for a short while, promising to return it before the battle began —prompting an odd look from the blonde elf, but he had obliged.

Not long after that everyone had to be in position. Harry found himself scrunched in between Gimli and another elf with a pretty-sounding name. Elenril. Closely translated means Star Gleam, according to Aragorn, whom Harry had hailed in passing. He didn't speak Westron, but they had fun teaching themselves how to pronounce each others' names.

"Erenlil," Harry had attempted, scrunching up his face.

"No, no," the elf had replied in heavily accented Westron, waving his bow around as if to emphasis the seriousness of it all. "El-en-ril."

"Ell-en-rril. Elenril."

Harry got it right because Elenril had nodded, looking pleased.

The orcs were almost upon them now, and they were taking very long because they weren't running but marching in a steady gate. Harry could even make out some detail in their armour and shields. The elves, he was sure, could name him the number of every single crease and line on their faces (as well as what they had for breakfast). Harry was tempted to ask his new elven friend just how many wrinkles the leader had on his face, but after thinking it over, realised it wasn't exactly appropriate. That, and he wasn't sure he could make himself understood.

Harry turned around slightly in order to better see the mountain behind him. On a high, high ledge overlooking the keep from a vertical drop were about fifty elves. "Reinforcements", Aragorn had explained when Harry asked why they were there. "In case the uruks breach the Deeping Wall." Of course, Harry could only just see the elves as they were so high up. A faint glow permeating from their bodies was the only certain thing he could make out. Right behind was yet another contingent of elves acting as reinforcements also.

Harry leaned forward a little over the wall to best see the other side of Helm's Deep. Somewhat above the gate, but not completely, stood Theoden and his foremost councillors. Beside the king was Boromir decked out as heavily, if not more so, than Gimli. He even carried the axe he'd unearthed from under a pile of chain-mail in the armoury slung across his back. It had been the only axe besides Gimli's in the keep. Boromir, seeing him stare, gave him a nod and a smile as if to say that everything was alright. Harry smiled back and let his eyes drift once more. Just as they landed on Haldir (who was staring unblinkingly and with a hint of dislike at the still approaching uruk-hai) it started raining. A lot.

Harry pointed his wand at his glasses. "Impervious."

Gimli, obviously seeing what Harry had done, asked quickly, "What was that spell you did?"

"It repels water," Harry explained, adjusting his Firebolt, which had tipped over onto the ground when he'd taken his wand out. "It makes my face dry. I'll be able to see now. Do you want a go?"

"I find myself intensely interested," Gimli admitted, stroking his axe. "If anything it will keep my beard from tangling. You may perform this repelling water spell on my face also."

Harry sniggered a little at the proud dwarf but did as he asked.

By the time the orcs — uruks, Harry reminded himself — came to a standstill in front of the keep, tensions were high and irritable, but fear overrode any of that. Harry could almost taste it in the air. And if Harry could, the uruk-hai were sure to.

As Aragorn began speaking to the elves in what was obviously the standard pre-battle speech, Gimli and Legolas started a conversation of their own.

Harry had long since felt sorry for Gimli. The stone wall they were all standing behind came about chest-height to Harry, but the poor dwarf couldn't even see over it.

"What is going on? What is happening out there?" Gimli was growling and jumping, trying to see over stones. But as dwarves weren't made to be lightweights, plus they had all that heavy armour on, he didn't get very far in his pursuit.

"Shall I describe it to you," Legolas asked, smirking a little. "Or would you like me to find you a box?"

Gimli looked stumped for a moment — in fact an utterly bland look appeared on his face —but then he chuckled heartily. At this point Harry, who had been listening earnestly, thought it would be a good idea to prove Legolas wrong, so discreetly, and with the utmost silence, pointed his wand and levitated the dwarf.

At first, no one seemed to notice anything, not even Gimli himself as he was still busy chuckling but even a dwarf would realise that he'd grown so much as to be suddenly nose-height to his elven companion, and getting higher.

"Oh!" Gimli exclaimed when he finally looked down. There was a moment of pure disbelief, as if he were thinking, "Now this is peculiar," before his arms flapped as if mechanically and began breast-stroking the air.

The elves around Gimli scooted back, staring up at this utterly bizarre spectacle. _Who would have thought?_ They seemed to think. _A flying dwarf!_

"Get me down! Get me down! Wizard! This is your doing!"

Legolas was laughing heartily. This tinkling laughter drew many curious looks, Aragorn among them, who now sported a half-grin half-frown of disproval on his face. The surrounding elves, having got over their shock, snorted behind their bow handles. Some turned their noses up at the spectacle, no doubt thinking that there was a time for fooling around, and this wasn't it. Harry would agree with them ordinarily, but he'd had a bit of a Fred and George moment, and hadn't been able to resist the opportunity. Besides, the situation wasn't as dire as everyone was thinking . . .

Aragorn shook his head at everyone and motioned for Harry to bring Gimli down. Grinning, Harry did so, glad, again, to have provided some amusement at a time when nothing was supposed to be funny. He even thought he spotted Haldir covering up a smile, but that could have just been wishful thinking on Harry's part. Haldir could have been covering up a frown, as it were.

At the far end of the keep, having just observed this spectacle, Theoden King said to Boromir, Son of Denethor. "He is mad. I know it. This is a battle!"

"What do you expect of wizards?" was Boromir's fond reply.

"Now that was uncalled for!" Gimli was harrumphing to Harry after having been levitated back down. "Dwarves were meant to stay planted. Planted!" He emphasised the word by stomping his right foot each time he said it.

"But look at it this way," Harry said, trying to veil his voice in undertones of mysteriousness. "No other dwarf can say that they've ever floated before. You'll have something to tell your grandchildren at least. A story by the fire on a cold winter's night and all that."

Harry could see Gimli was pleased by the idea. "Aye, there is that," he said slowly.

"Besides, you were the one who wanted to see over the wall. I only gave you a little . . . push."

"I did not see a thing," Gimli protested. "Too busy trying to get down. Shocked, I was. Shocked enough to miss the scenery. And what are you laughing about, elf?" Gimli demanded, turning to his friend. "I only need say the word and it will be you floating about our heads. You pointy-ears are light enough, as you are fond of saying. Soon you'll be lighter than the air if I have my way."

Legolas sputtered. "Wither the snow falls I will go, Gimli," he said. "But walking on air was a feat meant for birds and wizards, not elves. Eru Illuvatar ordained it so. I am content to stay grounded."

"As are we all," Gimli agreed. "But what then of Aragorn? He flew to Helm's Deep by way of holding onto that Fee-niks bird. Was he not flying? Did Eru Illuvatar ordain that men must fly? I think not."

"You are being sneaky, Gimli," Legolas said, waving an arrow at the dwarf. "Using Aragorn as an excuse. But do not forget, Aragorn is to be a King of Men. He is allowed certain liberties."

"Pah! Elves and their riddling ways. You are the sneaky one, not I!"

"See what you have started?" Aragorn said, leaning in behind Harry to whisper in his ear. "Now they are bringing me into it. Enough, friends!" he added loudly. "The time for battle is come, and pray leave your verbal sparring for a day more suited to it."

"T'was not sparring," Gimli said steadily, "but friendly banter. But yes, I would rather fight the Uruk-hai. My axe shall taste evil blood tonight, and plenty, I am hoping, shall be left for the rest of you!"

With that said, everyone became serious once more.

The uruk-hai were still banging against their armour and chanting in their guttural language — sounding as though Hagrid's three-headed dog, Fluffy, had taken up residence in their throats. Aragorn yelled something in elvish and Harry had to duck to Gimli's height as Elenril's elbow almost knocked into him. The elves were getting their bows ready and armed. On the other side of the keep, Harry could hear Theoden do the same to his soldiers.

"A fine mess we're in," Gimli muttered.

Harry slid down against the wall at his back until his bottom hit cold stone. There he arranged his legs so they leaned up against his chest, and got comfortable. Elenril's eyes flicked down to him, puzzled, but Harry just smiled. He wondered what the elvish word for 'waiting' was, but couldn't be bothered bothering Legolas or Aragorn for the translation.

Gimli had watched him go through this business with a suspiciously raised brow. "Not so fine a mess," Harry muttered back to him, waving at the elves standing before him, some of whom had also glanced perplexingly. "Soon everyone will be sitting down here, or going to have dinner, or talking, or sleeping, or whatever. At least for a little bit."

"If that is the case," Gimli growled, plonking himself down next to Harry, "I shall do the same. More of your wizardry, no doubt. What have you and Master Dumbledore cooked up?"

"You'll see," Harry said, smiling a little.

Aragorn had been walking between the rows of elves, speaking encouragingly to them, and now came to a halt at seeing both dwarf and wizard staring up at him unblinkingly from their position on the ground. An odd sight they made for sure when everyone else was on alert, and they looked to the ranger as if they were about to break out pipes and start smoking.

He turned to Legolas, questioning, but the elf merely grinned and shook his head as if to say "You try and stop them."

"I am not even going to ask," the ranger mumbled and turned away.

A short swish and a heavy plod, then angry growls pierced the silence.

"HOLD!" Aragorn shouted, whirling around and holding up an arm.

"An old man has fired an arrow," Legolas supplied without their having to ask. "His arm was too feeble to hold it secured."

"Here we go," Harry mumbled. Strangely, he felt a little fear at the thought of those uruk-hai, which was normal, he supposed. Magic wasn't entirely invincible after all. Some things could go wrong, and he'd have to fight. But he was more afraid of disappointing everyone as a result of that than actually fighting.

The first volley of arrows were released when Aragorn yelled a command in elvish. The fluency of the act was so perfect and graceful that Harry held his breath without realising. Rarely had he seen anything more . . . he didn't want to sound sappy, but "beautiful" was what came to mind. The elves were so organised, yet at the same time so . . . cold. No, that wasn't the right word. Detached. That was better. They were detached from what was happening around them. No emotion showed on their faces. Which was good, Harry reflected. It makes it much harder for the enemy to bait you if they think you're not affected. If only Harry could learn that trick. Asking Legolas for a few tips after the battle seemed a good idea . . .

The second volley of arrows came swiftly after the first, from Theoden's men. Harry, his heart hammering, waited for the uruk-hai's retaliation.

He and Gimli exchanged looks as they heard the first release of the evil arrows and then—

_PING! CLUNK! BANG! THUD! _and a serious of faint blue lights erupted like little _Lumos's _from behind the wall and above their heads in conjunction to every sound.

Aragorn stood in front of them, breathing, "What in Valar's name . . . ?" He seemed to have momentarily forgotten Gimli and Harry.

Then there was complete uproar. First from the uruk-hai, who started growling and chanting and stamping deafeningly in confusion, then the elves, exchanging excited mutterings with each other, and occasionally glancing down in Harry's direction.

"Harry, I think you had better get up." Aragorn was staring at him with a sort of puzzled wonder. "Stronger walls, yes, but this," he swept an arm, "I never expected. Come and see what your magic has wrought."

Already knowing some of the charms Dumbledore had put up, but still oblivious to half the others, Harry, along with Gimli, stood up curiously and looked over the wall (with Gimli scrambling up on his toes and grumbling, "Where is that spell now, wizard!").

Harry saw what Aragorn had meant at once, at last understanding some of what Dumbledore had done and applauding his genius.

It seemed that when the orcs had fired, intent on skewering the elves and men like animals, the arrows had been intercepted by one of Dumbledore's wards, which had rebound them back to their recipients and, consequently, killed them. A line of dead uruks stretching the entire length of the valley now lay before Helm's Deep. The live uruks were looking beyond confused, but also furious. "Dushatâr!" they shouted more than once, and even Harry knew that the word must have meant either wizard, or sorcery, or something similar. They were heaving their weapons around manically (and sometimes, Harry noticed, stupidly hewing the uruk next to them in their anger).

But they soon got over their anger and came charging and scattering and screeching at the keep with enormous ladders prepped against their shoulders. After the second attempt of trying to shoot more arrows the uruk-hai still hadn't desisted, despite the fact it got them killed. The elves and men reacted swiftly to the charge and fired more arrows at them, but no matter how many they killed the uruks just kept coming. There were thousands after all, what was it to them if hundreds of their own got killed in the process when they had them growing out of their ears, Harry realised.

But the uruk-hai had underestimated Dumbledore's wards again. No sooner did they touch the Deeping Wall than there was sizzling and shrieking and exploding of wood and metal. Everyone ducked simultaneously, and not just because of the gruesome sight. The uruk-hai had fizzed and melted, becoming statuesque blobs, but all the ladders had also blown up, resulting in pieces of chips to come bursting upwards like a fountain of wood and metal instead of water. But no one needn't have worried, as the wards repelled the chips as well.

Thunderous stamping and spine-shivering growling followed this new humiliation as the uruk-hai backed away, wary, at last, of the magic wall.

Harry felt a rush of satisfaction seeing this. He felt like doing a loop of victory around Helm's Deep on his Firebolt, but thought that everyone might have had too many shocks today as it was. But when he glanced around behind him he could see everyone (and he meant everyone down to the rats) were scurrying about excitedly, speaking excitedly, pointing at the uruk-hai excitedly. Harry was suddenly shuffled forward by an anonymous hand at his back, and only until he reached Aragorn did he turn around to see a grinning Elenril. When he turned back Legolas, Gimli, Boromir, the king, Haldir, and a number of other people had joined Aragorn. Some were grinning, others, like Haldir, were frowning, but they were all silent.

"All you have to do is keep shooting at them," he told Aragorn when no one ventured to say anything, "and they won't be able to do anything in return. The wards prevent that . . ." He trailed off. Something was wrong. "What is it?"

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Have you gone completely 'round the bend? You can't expect me or Dumbledore to actually do that? It defeats the purpose of constructing the wards in the first place! People will die!"

"Have you a better idea then? The uruks are not attacking, and our arrows will be out of range if they move back any further! We cannot wait all night!"

Harry almost swore at Haldir. It was as though the elf had a death wish.

Half an hour had passed since the uruk-hai had ceased to attack, and everyone was spread out, as Harry had predicted, either sitting on the ground or lounging about. No one, however, was completely free of all fear and tension, not even the uruks, and even they were relaxing having set up little fires here and there.

Harry shook his head at the surreal picture and turned to look back at Haldir. "I don't see the problem. Everyone will be safe! Isn't that what matters? Who cares if you have to wait to kill them! I mean, they can't exactly go back to Saruman and say they've failed, can they? Those _things_ were built solely to destroy; only now they're smart enough not to approach the keep because even they know they'll all get killed. Then who'll be left to fight for Saruman? They'd've failed! And that's not their job! They'll attack again, and when they do you'll kill them, won't you."

"You seem to be forgetting, wizard," Haldir spat out the word as if it were something disgusting, "that our stocks cannot last forever. Nor can arrows. We have nothing to replenish them with."

Both elf and wizard ignored the fact that the group conversation between the king, his officials, plus the remaining Fellowship, and a few other elves, had now turned more in the way of a two-way argument.

"As a matter of fact," Harry said, deeply pleased at being able to do so, "I duplicated hundreds of arrows earlier on, and I can duplicate more. And if push comes to shove and we have to stay here for days or something—" though that wouldn't be possible as Dumbledore was leaving in the morning and his wards with him, "—I can learn how to properly conjure food also."

The spell Harry had learned to duplicate objects had come from Lupin's book. He had been surprised to learn that duplicating was easier than transfiguration.

_Transfiguring objects_, the book had said, _requires the witch or wizard to literally change the matter of the object she or he his intending to alter. It is not like conjuring either. Conjuration requires the recipient to draw matter out of literally nothing in order to create the desired object. Duplicating is easier as the matter is already there, outlined in exactly the fashion the recipient wishes to the end result to turn out. It is only a simple process of copying it. _

And Harry had done so with Legolas' arrow, and hidden the duplicated arrows in a charmed sack, much like the one he'd given Frodo and Sam; except his had been home to some rotten potatoes, which he had banished.

"Plus," Harry continued, wishing he was as tall as Haldir so as to appear more intimidating, "I am a wizard, as you put it so nicely earlier, and I've still got my magic. I can levitate the uruk-hai and drop them from a great height. Or levitate swords to slash at them, or, or, fly over them and drop dung bombs or something!"

There was silence among the small group of important people as Haldir stared down at him. Then he looked away. "I am grateful for what you have done," he said at last, surprising Harry and everyone else. "But even you cannot defeat ten thousand uruks on your own."

"That's . . . true perhaps," Harry admitted. "But I'm not taking the wards down. Besides, they'll only be up for tonight anyway, as Dumbledore's going back to Hogwarts."

"What is this?" Gimli said, his hands resting on his axe.

"Dumbledore doesn't belong in this world, and it's tiring for him to stay here. He has to go back in the morning, and I probably have to take him back. The wards won't be up then. I suppose I can put some of my own up. I read a little about them . . . but I'm still not fully qualified yet, and they probably won't be as strong. Plus half the wards Dumbledore conjured I have no idea . . . Anyway; I don't know everything there is to know about wizardry. Dumbledore's my teacher, but he won't be here."

"And neither will you by the sounds of it," said Theoden, looking shocked. "Why have you not mentioned this before?"

"I'll be here," Harry insisted, ignoring the confused looks. "I know it seems like I just contradicted myself, but I'm coming back straight away."

"Yes, well, if you are not taking down these . . . wards," Boromir said, hand stroking his chin, "we must find some other way of counter defending ourselves. I agree with Harry. The uruks will attempt again their assault on the keep. They will have something else up their sleeves, or Saruman's sleeves, to trick us with. The White Wizard is not someone to be trifled with. You as well as I know that he would not have sent just _them_," he swept an arm jerkily in the enemy's direction. "There will be a surprise yet, we can be sure of it."

"And until then, what?" Haldir said coolly, lifting an elegant brow. "Do we be as sitting ducks and wait for this surprise?"

A vague tightening of Boromir's jaw was the only indication that he was annoyed with the elf. Harry was glad he wasn't the only one. "Nay, we must design another defence now that we know what all these wards are about."

Harry might have imagined it, but he thought he saw Boromir cast an exasperated look in his direction. Why would he do that? _Unless he's thinking you should have told them about the wards beforehand, so they could have thought up a new strategy earlier . . ._

Harry cringed inwardly. There was that, wasn't there? He had been stupid not to tell them what the wards would do, he admitted to himself. But even he hadn't been entirely certain of their overall purpose. He had known no arrows or anything would have been able to penetrate, but the melting orcs and exploding ladders had been as much of a surprise to him as everyone else.

"Right, you lot do that then, and I'll go and . . . kill some orcs."

Everyone stared at him.

"Gimli, d'you want to come?" Harry offered as a way out.

The dwarf grunted his assent and, shouldering his axe, followed Harry away from the group.

For the next hour Harry amused himself, Gimli, a couple of the younger boys, and anyone who showed interest, by levitating uruk-hai three hundred feet in the air and repeatedly dropping them. Sometimes he would levitate their own arrows and stab them with them. The first time this happened a group of ten or so uruks rushed at the keep in anger, only to get melted.

As time went on the uruks drew back further and further away from Helm's Deep, but Harry's magic didn't exactly have a range — as long as he could see his target — so they were still not safe. The uruk-hai now seemed completely helpless and completely stupid, looking more like jittery orcs than the great evil warriors they were supposed to be.

Some were running about roaring madly (these were the first that Harry dropped). Others Harry set on fire by using _Incendio_, which, he discovered, if left to travel over a long distance ballooned into an enormous fireball. That alone wiped out twenty or so uruk-hai and any others that happened to be stupid enough to get in the way.

By this time everyone had their own favourite method of killing that they wanted Harry to do. A young boy by the name of Eorling (who, like Gimli, had to stand on a box in order to see over the wall) kept on tugging at Harry's sleeve excitedly and requesting that he "Make them fly, please Harry," only to get scolded by his father for "addressing a wizard so informally."

Even Gimli had a favourite request, one that the dwarf had made up himself, and which Harry found particularly gruesome. Spiking, Gimli had dubbed it, and you didn't need to be Hermione to work out why it was given that name. It would start off like this:

Harry would levitate a spear in the orc encampment then direct it through as many uruk-hai as he could. His highest record had been fourteen before some uruk was smart enough to sever the spear in half and then proceed to cut it into unusable pieces.

"There is always more," Gimli would growl evilly.

Harry was surprised when Rumil and Elenril showed up and offered some suggestions of their own. Ones which they had trouble getting across because they both couldn't speak Westron. But Harry sort of worked out what they wanted when Rumil pointed to a ladder that was lying on the ground a couple of meters away, and Elenril went to sit on it and demonstrated a hilarious rendition of uruk-hai hanging on for dear life. The younger boys in the group laughed squeakily at the performance and clapped for more.

Harry shook his head. It was like a dream. Here they were under siege and Elenril, with his long black hair flapping about, sat on the ladder and rocked from side to side as if in a boat. Even more stranger was when Eorling and his friends went to sit on the ladder with him and started singing a jaunty tune, presumably a children's poem. Even Rumil looked surprised at this new happening, especially when Elenril joined in with an attempt to mimic in his rusty Westron.

A little further away, standing around a makeshift table made of stones, was the king and his councillors, the remaining Fellowship, the captain of the elves, and a few curious hangers-on.

"What in Elbereth's good grace is that?" Aragorn said, lifting his head in the direction of children's voices raised in song.

Haldir merely raised a hand to his temple and shook his head. "One of my elves."

"Ah, I see," said Aragorn, but he clearly didn't see because he shook his head. "Verily, I am more and more astonished, Haldir. So we are agreed then?" he addressed the king.

Theoden stood with a hand over the map of Helm's Deep which was spread on the table. "It is the only thing we can do in these circumstances. According to Master Potter the uruks cannot breach the wall so it is pointless stationing more elves on the mountain where they cannot get to the enemy by neither arm nor arrow. I agree with Boromir, they would be of better use down here."

Boromir nodded in acknowledgement. "I have something more to add, though. An idea hath come upon me," he said dramatically, and effectively, garnering the attention of everyone around him. "I was remembering how you, Harry, and Master Dumbledore appeared at Helm's Deeps this noon, Aragorn . . ." He looked at them of each in turn.

"I can guess what you are hinting at," Legolas said, his eyes glinting. "You mean to use Fawkes for something. To transport something, or someone."

"Yes, Legolas, I thank you," Boromir said, nodding. "I also had the thought that there are plenty of fissures and such in the surrounding mountains."

Haldir looked steadily at him. "You mean to put my elves there for an ambush. An attack from all sides. It is a good plan," he admitted, "worthy of a leader. Although I must ask the wizard first. The bird will likely not listen to us if it is as I think it is."

"You have felt it too then," Aragorn said.

Haldir sighed. "Yes. That bird is immortal. I am not sure of its age, though, but I know it is wise, and has its own mind. There is something about its Master as well. He has great power, though I cannot begin to guess at his age."

"I have felt it as well," Legolas said, hand on his chin. Then he tilted his head. "But why must _you_ ask Harry? The pair of you are not exactly . . . well, to put it plainly, you do not get on well together, Haldir. He is likely to 'hex' you as help you."

"Our wills are strong and from that first meeting in Lorien we did not get on well with each other," Haldir admitted to the curiosity of the surrounding people. "I must confess I thought we had settled our differences when the Fellowship departed the Golden Wood, but oft times Harry sees things personally when they should be seen impersonally. He does not understand that my attitude is not an affront to him."

"It is your tone that is an affront to him," Legolas mumbled, and Haldir looked sharply at him.

"Nevertheless, I will ask him. If only to gain a newly forged friendship, if he is willing. I begin to see his is not all talk." All the surrounding people nodded seriously at that. They had all seen Harry's Fires and were most impressed.

"It is settled," Aragorn said, glad that Haldir had finally seen Harry's worth. He wondered if Harry would do the same. "Haldir will ask Harry while the rest of us will get everyone in position again."

He settled a hand on the elf's shoulder. "Good luck my friend," he said comfortingly, leaving a bewildered Haldir behind as he marched off to direct his soldiers.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

A group of three or so important uruk-hai (by which of course it must be understood that they were in charge of the rest . . . barely), sat in the middle of the encampment around a newly extinguished fire. The rest of their brethren had also done the same upon order. The angry Fires like dragon's breath that had come from the Deeping Wall had killed some of them and forced them to scatter out of line, so they happened upon the thought – as you do in such situations and if you're an army of mutilated creatures – that if that wizard couldn't _see_ their fires then he wouldn't get ideas to cast any more. Also, they thought if the wizard couldn't see them at all then that was a bonus. Which they hoped he couldn't because almost all the campfires were now extinguished.

They had thought they'd witnessed everything when their own weapons started attacking them, not to mention the flying, but the Fires had come as nasty surprise. And no doubt the wizard was up there plotting more ways to kill them, which they didn't like at all and it made them very angry. So angry in fact that a riot had broken out between some sitting to the far left of the mountains and thirty or more now lay dead by their own hands. By this rate the enemy need not engage them in battle, for they would have killed themselves beforehand.

"Pickle, pickle, pickle," growled one of the five, the biggest, with increasing fervour. "I 'ate being in a pickle. And tha's what we's in, aint we lads? But I aint gunna eat my way out!"

Elf-cleaver was his scimitar's name and his own was Vadoksog because he was nastier as well as larger than his companions and his favourite sport included dicing up elf-men and eating their more delicate parts. The ears he left as a keepsake and threaded them through with warg hair so as to hang about his neck as a trophy. Twenty-six elven ears were currently dangling there, which meant he had already killed thirteen elves, and was no doubt wishing for more to kill and eat right at this very moment. But because he couldn't actually get to more elves that wish was fast becoming a long forgotten thought.

"Saruman! 'E never told us there were gunna be another wizard 'ere!" complained an Uruk named Krûfuk, whom the others didn't like much because he was always complaining, but this time they all felt it was warranted.

Flâgît snarled. "We kill 'em now, I says! Be'er now than later. They'd o' thought o' somethin' by then. Them elves is tricksters." He wasn't particularly bright for an uruk. In fact he wasn't an uruk, just an overlarge orc that somehow managed to sneak into the army as it was marching out of Isenguard. No one else had noticed the difference, except to comment that he was stupider than a goblin at times and that his voice was curiously high-pitched. How he got to be one of the three in charge was anyone's guess.

"Shut yer hole, scumbucket, afore I fill it with irons!" spat Krûfuk, fed up with Flâgît's stupidity. "Wha' ye mean, we got to kill 'em now? They aint no gettin' near that wall. By shaft or foot!"

"An' there aint no gettin' back to Saruman by life or limb intact if we doesn't try!" Flâgît spat back.

All three lapsed into silence at that, and not just because Flâgît had said something intelligible at last, but because what he said was the truth. They couldn't go back to Saruman unless they had a special fondness to spend the rest of their miserable existence staring into that accursed Fangorn Forest from the top of a pike. By which of course they meant that their deaths would really not be more miserable than their current existence.

They cared not much for their own deaths anyway, these uruks, as they were bred for the purpose of being suicidal. But that purpose contained killing all the inhabitants of Helm's Deep along the way, not being picked off one by one by a wizard's spell, the likes of which they had never thought possible and which they could not get near enough to stop. It sent them into a rage just to think about it, and for a few moments they stomped about in the newly charcoaled fire until their metal boots began overheating from the still hot faggots of wood.

Vadoksog kicked at a passing uruk and watched it roar in pain and attempt to engage in him combat, before ending up with its head rolling some feet away courtesy of Vadoksog's scimitar.

"Settle yer 'ead down!" roared Krûfuk, somewhat appropriately. It was unofficially decided that he was the leader this night, as he was the most lax out of all of them and didn't tend to loose his wits as often.

Vadoksog grunted and plonked down next to Flâgît. "What we got to eat?"

"Nothin'!" Flâgît growled back. "We thought to eat men remember? But there's no eatin' 'em now!"

All three snarled again at that, but unlike before, didn't loose their wits. "There's still tha', what's it called, of Saruman's," said Krûfuk.

The 'what's it called' Krûfuk was referring to is a giant bomb filled with Wizard's Fire that the wizards had created and which sometimes Gandalf used for his fireworks. It had only ever been used for that actually, until recently when Saruman had begun using it to blast bits of Fangorn up and also to make caverns under Orthanc.

"How we gunna get it there?" Flâgît said. "They'll be shootin' us with their arras!"

"There whats?" said Vadoksog and Krûfuk together.

"Arras!"

"We march up usin' shields fer protection," Krûfuk said at once. "There'll be no elves able to kill us!"

"Wha' about that wizard?" asked Vadoksog.

"We deals wiv 'im when we get there."

Flâgît scratched his head. "There's somethin' I doesn't get."

"Tha'll be a first," growled Vadoksog loudly.

"How can we be sure that thing aint gunna blow up like the others when we reach the wall?"

"Idiot!" Krûfuk grunted, slapping Flâgît's head. "It's s'pposed to blow up, ain' it?"

"Aye, but . . . them walls are still protectin' 'em."

"Ye don't know if ye don't try, now shut up and get everyone assembled."

Flâgît growled in annoyance, but went to do as Krûfuk asked.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Harry walked to the direction of the king's chamber, still somewhat stunned by the conversation he'd just had.

Haldir had approached him. Of his own free will. And asked for Harry's help.

He was still smarting over that.

The king had lent Dumbledore his chamber before the battle had begun (not that it'd started at all) and the headmaster was currently snoozing away on the bed, hands folded over his chest. He would have to ask Dumbledore's permission if he could borrow Fawkes, but Harry didn't think Dumbledore would mind. Harry didn't think Fawkes would mind transporting elves either. According to Haldir, elves were creatures of nature and pure of soul, so they were just like Fawkes in that respect.

He walked over to the other side of the bed where the Phoenix sat clutching the headrest with his claws. Giving his wing a brief stroke Harry turned his attention to the old man on the bed.

"Headmaster."

Not even a mumble greeted him this time.

Harry told himself not to become worried. This was expected after all.

He then firmly shook Dumbledore by the shoulder for a few seconds, until, at last, he woke up.

"Ah, yes," Dumbledore said as if he'd been expecting Harry to wake him all along. "Had quite a pleasant sleep, though the straw in the mattress made it rather uncomfortable at times. And, I dare say, itchy in the most awkward places."

He didn't bother to prop himself against the headrest but remained where he was in his flat position. He did, however, stuff another pillow under his head.

"I assume you wanted me for some reason. What can I do for you?"

_He sounds so tired_ Harry thought, with a momentary guilt. He cleared his throat. "I need to borrow Fawkes, sir. Please."

Dumbledore chuckled tiredly. "Fawkes cannot be borrowed, Harry. And I am certain that if you stoped to think you'd know that." Harry was about to open his mouth and say he hadn't meant it like that when the headmaster continued. "He is his own animal. In fact, perhaps you should ask Fawkes if you can borrow me some time." He chuckled again.

"Er, right." Hearing that Harry felt like a dope. Dumbledore had been humouring him the whole time. "It's just we need him, sir, we need his help. But I thought I ought to ask first."

"What has happened?" Dumbledore looked serious at last.

Harry explained in brief what the wards had accomplished as well as Boromir's idea. "That way they'll be able to set up a sort of ambush. And the uruk-hai won't be able to get them either because they'll be too high up."

"A good strategy. I must admit; abashedly I might add, that I never thought about the repercussions strong wards might bring about to those they are defending. I'm used to dealing with wizards who can apparate away to avoid the entire confrontation—anti-apparation wards notwithstanding.

"Even enemy wizards, who, after a few hours or so might learn how to work their way around the defensive wards, is an indication that the battle shouldn't last long. Wizards play by certain rules, magic being among them." He sigh was long and drawn out and old. Even his gold-edged spectacles seemed to have lost some of their glimmer. "I should have taken that into account."

"It isn't your fault," Harry said loyally. "You weren't raised muggle, Professor. I, on the other hand, was. I should have figured it out."

Dumbledore patted his hand. "Very noble of you to try and shoulder all the guilt but I cannot allow you to do that. Perhaps a smidgeon can go into your corner for not telling your friends about the wards' purposes—" Harry cringed "—but I am the adult after all. I was supposed to know. I expect I can blame some of it on my fatigue, though."

Dumbledore stared thoughtfully at the ceiling as Harry grinned. "No one can think too clearly when they're tired," he agreed.

"Well at least they've conducted a better strategy this time round. Now off you go. Fawkes will accompany you. We don't want to waste any more time."

"Thank you," Harry said sincerely, but Dumbledore had already closed his eyes, and Harry wasn't sure if he'd heard him. The effort he'd exerted to talk to Harry must have _really_ exhausted him.

Fawkes was too large to fit on Harry's arm or on Harry's shoulder so he gestured for the Phoenix to fly ahead of him. Harry wondered briefly why Fawkes wasn't showing the least bit exhaustion yet, but put it down to him being an immortal firebird.

A short while later they came upon the rest of the company. Everyone was pretty much assembled as to how they'd been before. The fifty elves that had been on the mountain behind them were now waiting in front of the great hall to be taken away from the keep and onto the surroundings mountains. All chatter stopped when Harry and Fawkes came into view.

Harry was pretty much ignored in favour of Fawkes, whom the elves couldn't stop staring at. _Wait til they hear him sing._

Haldir came to stand beside him, giving a nod of acquiescence. "I will translate for you."

Harry nodded. "Okay. Erm. Fawkes!" The Phoenix flew over to Harry and settled himself on one of the stone steps. Then Harry began the cringing process of describing exactly what was required of the elves. Fawkes, he told them, would apparate everyone (not at the same time, but in large groups) over to the mountains. "It'll feel like dying," he said as cheerfully as he could manage. "But you won't. Die, that is. It'll just feel really horrible. Like something large is squeezing you to death."

He felt, more than saw, Haldir's incredulous look before the elf sought to translate. He must have described it better than Harry though, for the elves looked calm and collected as always.

"Just one question, Haldir," Harry said, feeling more than a little awkward using his name, as he'd never done it before. "Will everyone have enough arrows, or should I make more?"

"Where are the shafts you created before?"

"Here." Harry untied the sack from his belt and handed it over to Haldir.

He looked sceptical. "All this? There could not be more than twenty arrows in here."

Haldir's disbelief was probably one of the things that had grated on Harry before because it annoyed him now. "It's charmed," he explained, trying not to sound dry. "There are hundreds of arrows in there."

Haldir seemed to except this because he said "Thalion!" and an elf with midnight black hair stepped out of the group to take the sack from him. Harry assumed he was to be the leader of the elves on the mountains.

"So if everyone could just arrange themselves in whatever group they're supposed to be in . . ."

Haldir translated and at once the elves split themselves into two straight lines with about twenty-five persons in each. The ease and coordination with which they did this made Harry gape. It was like they could read each others' minds or something. Fawkes then swooped up without Harry having to tell him and hovered in front of Thalion.

"If he could just grab hold of Fawkes' tail . . ." Harry told Haldir, feeling very much like an adult explaining something to a group of small children — admittedly, though, very well-behaved children. This translating business was very annoying. "Also, everyone'll have to be holding on to each other."

There was a brief shuffling as the elves placed a hand on the shoulder of the person in front. "That's good," Harry said, again surprised. "Alright Fawkes, it's up to you now."

Fawkes trilled a serious of notes in concession and Harry had only a split second to see the delighted grins that enveloped all the elves as a result before there was a burst of flames and the first group disappeared.

Harry thought it best to wait until Fawkes came back before he went to his position beside Gimli, but the loud shouts that came at them all the way from the wall stopped him. Theoden, who was standing fifty meters or so away in his usual spot waved at Haldir and Harry, shouted something, and pointed to where the uruk-hai were camped. They didn't stop to exchange looks but ran towards the wall.

_They _must_ be stupid_, was Harry's first thought as he and Haldir pushed passed some people in order to better see the field. The uruk-hai had apparently decided that waiting around doing nothing was far worse than trying to attack Helm's Deep again and getting killed, because they were all standing up and marching steadily towards the keep. They also looked to Harry, if it could be possible, even more determined in this second assault then they had been in the first.

Haldir answered Harry's speculations without his having to voice them. "They are up to something," he breathed, not taking his eyes from the creatures. "This is no doubt the surprise we have been expecting at last. Come Harry, we go and prepare our defence, for that is all we can do."

Slightly surprised at the gentle tone Haldir had used Harry complied and they both walked back to the remaining elves who were waiting to be taken up onto the mountains.

Just as they arrived an explosion of fire heralded the appearance of Fawkes.

Just as Fawkes arrived nearly all the elves in the entire keep cried out in alarm and pointed far into the distance. There were many "Ai's!" being thrown around. Harry felt as though a cold slimy fish had made its home in his stomach as Haldir, his eyes widening, began shouting orders left, right, and centre. He could hear Theoden and Aragorn do the same, despite the fact that the king musn't have known what was going on. There was a flurry of movement as elves and men cocked weapons and scrambled this way and that.

A third explosion of flames saw Fawkes and the remaining twenty-five elves disappear.

Harry was pushed along by Haldir until he reached an outcrop of stone where a catapult of some kind lay on it.

"What—?" was all Harry could manage before the elf put a hand on his shoulder saying "Wards cannot guard against creatures that fly, Harry, they will need your magic more than us," and he disappeared passed the throng of men and headed towards Aragorn.

And at last Harry and every other person could hear what the elves had known long before now. It was a sound Harry had heard only once since coming to Middle Earth. He had thought it alarming then as well, and he vaguely remembered likening it to a hoard of wasps.

In the distance, for the most part disguised by the night, were crows. Large, black, flapping crows. The largest Harry had ever seen. And they were coming towards Helm's Deep. He felt like swearing. Haldir was right, the wards wouldn't protect against crows because they could easily fly over them.

Harry noticed that the crows weren't their only worry now. The uruk-hai had begun to run manically to the Deeping Wall again. The whole ten thousand of them, or how ever many there were, came sprinting up brandishing their weapons, and getting melted. The smell of burning orc was horrible! And the exploding orc weapons were flung about in the confusion. It was chaos! The uruk-hai were getting slaughtered non-stop! But still they didn't stop coming! The bodies of all the melted and exploded uruks were piling up unceremoniously against the wall. Harry was beginning to thing they really _were_ brainless.

_CRAW! CRAcrawCAWcaaawCRAWW! CRAAAAAAAAAW!_

Harry's head jerked up.

The crows had finally arrived.

They came rasping, and cawing, and screeching, and flapping with talons extended and beaks glinting in the firelight from the torches. They were _huge!_ As easily as large as a Shepherd dog.

He blinked.

Was it Harry's imagination, or did the crows look like they were diving, specifically, in his direction?

He watched as the crows dived one after the other, bypassing the men and elves, and . . . he couldn't believe it! They _WERE_!

Harry didn't stop to think but mounted his Firebolt just as the first crow almost reached him and . . . _wooosh!_ He kicked off, shooting diagonally into the air. A delighted grin spread on his face. There was nothing to worry about now. Nothing mattered while he was flying. The crows, whose _"caws!"_ were sounding more and more furious at his clever evasion didn't matter at all. They were a mere nuisance. They would never catch him on his broom!

Harry turned his head and saw that the crows had followed him all the way to the elves on the mountain, whom Harry was flying passed right at this very moment. Harry's brain registered the shocked looks on their faces. He gave them cheerful wave then faced forward again determinedly.

_Alright, _he thought._ The ugly birds want to play? I'll give them something to play about!_

He turned sharply to the right.

A glance behind showed that the crows followed. Harry was delighted to discover that some of the elves were shooting at the crows also. They gave him a wave back and Harry grinned at them.

_What was that?_

Harry's grin widened as he spotted Fawkes hovering by the elves.

Without even knowing he was going to do it he fell into a vertical dive gaining speed as the ground, which was filled with uruks, rapidly approached. He only had a split second's satisfaction at watching their yellow eyes widen with horror just as he was about to hit them before . . . _That had hurt!_

Harry had delivered a perfectly executed Wronski Feint which some of the crows, with their momentum, hadn't been able to get out of. They were currently lying flattened on some uruks' faces. But the Feint he'd executed had been jerky and his arm muscles were now throbbing from having done a wild about-face.

He soared to the clouds, watching as the crows, who were now looking and not just sounding furious, flapped speedily after him. He turned back to the front and—

"GAAAH!"

—ducked hastily under another group of crows.

Harry realised he'd been tricked._ They must have split up at some point and thought to shepherd me into a trap. _

Harry didn't get angry; instead he grinned, delighted, and proceeded to show the crows just how attacking and evading was done properly.

It was like playing Quidditch with a whole bunch Crabes and Goyles with dozens of Bludges. All Harry had to do was duck and doge and skirt and dive to avoid getting scratched or bitten or poked or head-butted by a particularly zealous crow. This was easy as the birds were slowpokes compared to a Firebolt.

_At least I'm getting some good practise in._

It was made even better when Fawkes joined in, tempting a group of crows away from Harry for a while. He had a positively glorious moment when the Phoenix started singing, the haunting sound echoing across the valley for a few moments as the crows and the uruk-hai either roared or stamped or dithered or scurried or flapped about in helpless pain at the sound.

Everyone else, however, was given an uplifting feeling of hope, Harry included.

Then Harry thought he'd be really clever and actually try to stop the crows instead of merely avoiding them.

The first time Harry attempted this he flew straight at the Deeping Wall, making sure he was out of range of any orc swords. Fawkes kept off any would be arrow-launches with a few well-placed knocks upside an uruk's head.

Some of the more stupid crows ended up splattering flat onto the stones before exploding in a mess of guts and black feathers, courtesy of Dumbledore's wards.

Laughing, Harry turned about and rocketed straight into the air again. He hadn't had this much fun since his last Quidditch match.

In all the confusion and laughter and delight Harry was feeling he failed to notice the formation of uruks that had been slowly and steadily and patiently moving from their ensconced protective position in the midst of the entire army and were now somewhere near the end, almost reaching the Deeping Wall. These formation of uruks were protecting Vadoksog, who was to be the torch-bearer, a highly distinguished position, despite the fact that he'd be dead when his job was completed. But Vadoksog didn't mind dying, he was a bit miffed at not having sampled any more elves it was true, but it was all for a greater cause.

They had grinned feralsomely when the Crebain showed up. They hadn't expected extra help, and it made Vadoksog's job a lot easier in that the wizard was now distracted and wouldn't be shooting off anymore spells in order to stop them.

Now, as the uruks on either side of him flung themselves at the wall and screamed as they died Vadoksog got ready to do the same. He took to a sprint, about to reach the sewer entrance –

_THUD!_

He howled in pain as an elf-arrow imbedded into the soft fleshy underside of his arm. Snarling, he took a few seconds to glance upwards and noted a golden-haired elf ready to shoot yet another arrow at him and a dark-haired man pointing and screaming in that foul elf-language. Not wasting any time Vadosksog jumped into the hole.

_BOOM!_

The entire wall shook as the bomb exploded. There was a brief moment of pure panic as everyone on the keep thought that to be the end of it, but a rumbling noise sounded instead as if the wall had just belched, then . . .

Silence.

Even the uruk-hai were silent.

But not for long. They roared in furious anger at their failure. Their last possible resort was now obliterated. They ran at the keep, not caring anymore about Saruman or failing their mission or getting killed or anything like that.

It took a while for them to notice that nothing was happening to them.

They weren't being exploded or melted or spattered.

The people on the keep noticed the same thing at the same time.

They watched in horror as the uruk-hai cheered and started bringing out the ladders.

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A/N: I know, I know ended it in a cliff-hanger, but everything will all become clear in the next chapter. I PROMISE! Just don't make too many assumptions until then, though you'll probably guess if you do.

Also, if you hadn't guessed, the two wizards Saruman and Gandalf were thinking about were Dumbledore and Fawkes. They felt them as soon as they arrived in Middle Earth. S and G didn't feel Harry because, as stated in the last chapter, he is now part of Middle Earth, he was meant to be there, so his presence doesn't cause disruptions, as Dumbledore's and Fawkes' does. Also, Saruman, going by Wormtongue's information, mistook Dumbledore and Fawkes for Harry, or rather Dumbledore for Harry. Fawkes was the ancient power neither he nor Gandalf could understand.

I only explain this now in case you hadn't realised it from the off, though I thought I was pretty clear, but I know some younger readers (and I mean really young like nine) might not have understood.

Dumbledore's wards: I figured anything evil that came in contact with them, (that is, anything that intended harm to the current inhabitants of Helm's Deep) would be terminated as soon as it touched the walls. This included weapons as well as malicious intent.

Well, that's all for now.

Happy Reading and don't forget to review please.


	16. Bye Bye Birdie

Disclaimer: J.R.R.Tolkien owns Lord of the Rings. J.K.Rowling owns Harry Potter. I do not.

A/N: Finally, it's up. I am so very, very sorry at how long I've taken with this chapter. No, I didn't have writers block (I don't believe in it). Yes, I was sick for a time (if you think a cold is life threatening), but those weren't the reasons. I only have one word to say —Assignments. University always comes first. Unfortunately. (Or should that be fortunately?)

Thanks to everyone who reviewed. I appreciate all your comments and thanks heaps for the advice.

**WARNING:** Also, this chapter is a little darker than the rest. A PG13 for sure.

And I suggest you read the last chapter again before going any further. It might seem a bit confusing otherwise.

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**Chapter sixteen: Bye Bye Birdie.**

_A few minutes previously . . ._

Albus Dumbledore jerked upright, breath expelling in harsh gasps, hand clutching his chest. Little beads of sweat dotted his forehead, some gaining enough substance to stream down his face and into his beard. Painfully, slowly, he rested his legs over the side of the bed and gripped the nearest post with both hands in order to speed the process along. He stood ―and instantly fell back onto the bed again. Dizziness overcame him and nausea churned in his belly. Taking several deep breaths he stood up again, even more slowly this time, on legs that trembled in fatigue and exhaustion before shuffling, slowly, into his boots.

So it had begun.

Albus was not stupid. Indeed, most would call him rather well-informed, but he knew nothing better than he knew magic.

And his own was waning.

Even more so now that the battle had truly begun and the battering his wards were taking would only withstand as long as he did. Which, at the moment, did not seem very long at all.

He was past the age where wishes could hold any hope for him, so he didn't wish. No, he straight out hoped. He hoped that he would last long enough for the wards to hold, because if he didn't . . .

_BANG!_

He gasped, swayed, and clutched the post as another wave of nausea enveloped him.

Yet another assault.

_Harry . . . Harry needs help. I must help him._

Those were his only thoughts as he scraped along the wall, leaning more against it than on his own legs. He must have looked rather comical at the moment. And his feet didn't seem to be cooperating much . . .

_Albus, you old fool. Look what you've done._

"Harry . . . Must get to Harry."

It was a long, slow, painful slog against the wall for the headmaster. Many long minutes past under the pain of high discomfort, but the wizard was oblivious to them. His only thought was his young student, for he knew he was not much longer for this world.

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_A few minutes before that . . . _

Boromir watched in resigned horror as the Crebain swooped from the sky, heading toward Harry Potter and making noises loud enough to raise the ancient dead. But the boy just stood there staring wide-eyed and wide-mouthed, as if he couldn't—

"Harry, move!" he shouted, arms waving, but his voice was lost amongst the many caws, shrieking uruk, and various other battle sounds.

Boromir need not have been concerned, though, for the second the Crebain reached the young wizard he was off on that flying broomstick of his, shooting faster than Boromir had ever seen him go, almost faster than his eyes could follow, but not, it seemed, faster than the Crebain could follow. By the time Boromir finally spotted him all he could see was a speck. Harry was too far away, his cloak too black, too concealed by the night sky.

Shaking his head a little he looked around. Theoden stood some meters away engaged in quiet discussion with Gamling. He had been very silent of late, and very stubborn. But Boromir understood his need to protect his people. What he found most chilling, though, was the calm exterior Theoden presented, even when uruk-hai by the dozens were being slaughtered against his own walls. Dazed he looked ―as if his body was there but his mind was elsewhere, lost in dreams of what he believed might come to pass.

A great many persons were standing by the hood of the Deeping Wall, most of which were elves, and looking into the sky. The elves would oft times cheer and point, which prompted merriment from the men beside them in response. Harry must be doing something spectacular, as was usually the case.

The shrieks of the dying uruk were deafening as the son of Denethor made his way over to his friends of Fellowship. Elves and men both were letting their bows sing in almost perfect succession, and there was much cheering abroad when a particularly vile explosion signalled the death of an uruk and its weapons.

Little blue lights, ethereal in the night sky, often sprung just over the edge of the wall, testament to the uruks' useless pursuit of arrow-shooting.

Boromir frowned, halted in time to avoid bumping into a young boy who bounded passed squealing in excitement, then continued on his way.

It seemed all too simple. All too easy. Something was bound to go wrong, despite Harry's assurances. And the young wizard had not been all that assured either from the looks of him.

"It is madness," he muttered now to Aragorn, having just arrived on the other side. Legolas and Gimli were some meters away watching the commotion down below, the dwarf occasionally cheering.

"Yes," Aragorn agreed. "But they do not die needlessly. Already they are planning something. See the cluster in the middle?"

He pointed, but Boromir had already spotted them. "Yes."

"We shall have to be on our guard. Harry is occupied and will not see that anything is amiss. Fawkes as well. We shall have to put everyone on their guard."

"They act too careless by half."

The ranger shook his head. "No Boromir, they merely hope the danger is over, but still have enough sense not to be reckless. They do not put all their trust and their faith in Harry's magic, because it is a magic they do not understand. That, at least, is some comfort."

Boromir scoffed. "_They_ do not understand. _We_ do not understand."

Aragorn merely grinned and continued watching, Boromir following suit. When Harry peltered at them suddenly from the night sky, dozens of Crebain in fast pursuit, and almost crashing into the wall but pulling away at the last moment, the two men did not blink. Not even when the Crebain exploded, shrieking, in the wizard's wake.

"Shall I put up the call, or shall you?" Boromir asked in a tone that suggested he'd seen all the wonders he ever could, and would, and so was not entitled to be shocked or surprised by anything Harry did anymore.

Aragorn chuckled.

That was answer enough.

Sighing resignedly, Boromir tromped onward, signalling to both men and elves as he went. When he reached Theoden he was not surprised to discover that the king had also noticed the formation of uruks ensconced in the middle of the loathsome army.

"But what would you have me do?" he said now, eyeing Boromir with a steely gaze. "The walls are protected. And our soldiers are defending admirably even though they tend to be having as near enough a good time as there can be had wenching . . . there is nothing more _to_ do."

Hardly believing Theoden had actually said that, Boromir closed his mouth, and tried a different tact. "That is what I am concerned about. This is a battle; they should not be having so much of a good time, even if the good time seems unlikely to be impeded. At least have them on guard, for pity's sake!"

"You were not so concerned when the wizard was plying his tricks!" Theoden said in a scoffing tone.

Boromir's eyes narrowed. "Harry has magic. He can look after himself better than any of us can. Think you he does not know that? Harry knows when he goes too far, and he hasn't, as yet I've seen. What was done to Gimli was done in harmless jest, nothing more. It did not hurt anyone, except, perhaps, the dwarf's pride. Our soldiers, on the other hand, can have something happen to them. We are still not sure if these wards will even hold—"

Boromir had only just finished speaking when a great lurching rumble reverberated beneath his feet. He almost unbalanced, but grabbed onto a stone balustrade in the last second. _What in Valar . . . _? Moments later he saw Aragorn shouting at him, but his ears had become as if a blanket were being held over them, and so could not hear him. He turned back to Theoden—and promptly froze in the gesture.

_Eru._

The top of a great ladder, blackened with rust and age, had crashed itself onto the upper tire of the wall. More ladders swiftly followed.

Boromir did not waste any precious time. "The wards have collapsed! Man your places!" he shouted, running between the clustered groups of elves and men. Luckily, most were near or already in their stations, and did not need to be told twice what to do.

Uruk came swarming into the keep, doubly furious now than they would have been had they had the opportunity to do so before. They hacked and slashed without remorse, and many men and elves died in that first assault.

Boromir swallowed pent up bile and drove his sword into a particularly grotesque uruk, whose breath hissed upon him in an evil smell as it died. Mentally blocking his nose Boromir worked his way along the wall, stabbing, and kicking, and punching, and blocking, and—"Ahh! What is it?"

A sharp thing that wasn't a sword or a dagger had pierced his arm, then flapped away.

_Flapped?_

"Crebain!" someone cried, and the warning went up as did the shields. A whole swarm of black crows were now diving upon them, flapping above heads and trying to get into all the vulnerable, fleshy parts with their sharp as steel beaks. Boromir, his arm paining, transferred his shield upon his head and swung his sword up —it encountered soft spongy flesh. When he withdrew his sword and placed it by his side a large Crebain was skewered to it, its wings extended as if in worship. Grimacing, he placed his foot on the dead beast and —_shluck!_

He parried his blade just in time to avoid getting pierced on an orcish scimitar.

The growls and snarls and grunts of the filthy beasts were unbelievably loud, and with his shield arm paining him, and the other parrying and striking at random uruks, Boromir was incapacitated. He could barely keep up with the birds that were striking at him from above. The Crebain had obviously only chased after Harry until the uruks could get inside the keep. Now, they did not seem to care who they went after, or if the wizard killed them or not.

_Speaking of which, where is that boy?_

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Harry could still remember the day he'd first arrived in Middle Earth. It had been sometime around late afternoon and the sun was just setting. He remembered seeing bushes with red shiny berries, made even shinier by the setting sun. He remembered how Hedwig and he had come upon the Fellowship.

As far as Harry knew, all of the Fellowship was still alive. But they wouldn't be unless he helped.

He thought he had helped, though. He and Dumbledore.

But . . .

The wards had failed miserably; a fact that reinforced itself to Harry with every new assault of the uruk-hai forces upon Helm's Deep. There was no time to dwell on this. In fact, the thought of dwelling did not even cross his mind. It was as though he had no control over his limbs, as though his mind had been imperio-ed by some outside force. All Harry knew was that his wand was attached to his hand, which was attached to his arm, which was linked to his mouth, which was shouting spells. His broom seemed to have developed a mind of its own as well as it led him, swooping, over the heads of the attacking uruk.

They were avoiding him for the most part, though; whenever he swooped down upon them they'd either duck (their eyes manic) or throw themselves backwards.

Fawkes had disappeared a while ago.

As soon as the wards had broken down.

He'd exploded into millions of ashes, accompanied, in succession, by what could only be described as a sighing shriek of pain.

Harry hadn't known what to make of this, and would have been highly concerned if it weren't for the fact that he'd known Fawkes to be fine. The battle at the Department of Mysterious at the end of his last school year had shown him that phoenix's could not die, not even when hit by a Killing Curse wielded by the most fearsome Dark Lord the Wizarding World had ever seen.

Instead, Harry was only _marginally_ concerned. After all, he still didn't know _what_ had caused the phoenix to spontaneously combust like that, but he had a shrewd, and (he hoped) false suspicion. Since the phoenix combusted as soon as the wards had broken down, and because the wards were linked to Dumbledore, who was linked to Fawkes . . . well it didn't take a genius to work it out. But Harry was now concerned about the Headmaster. If a powerful magical creature like the phoenix had combusted, what sort of effect had the broken wards had on Dumbledore? Who was human?

But Harry didn't have time to think about that right now. Dodging an arrow from one of the uruk, which was climbed half way up a ladder, Harry shot it with a fire curse then jerked upwards to avoid crashing into the Deeping Wall.

What he saw as he flew over the keep was enough to freeze his stomach completely. Forget ice cubs. The entire North Pole had taken up residence in there.

It was complete, overwhelming chaos. His brain just didn't know where to look.

He saw uruk jumping upon elves and men. Elves and men jumping upon uruk. Swords flashing, shields parrying, hair flying, lungs screaming, uruk screeching, crows flapping, limbs being severed, people dying . . .

Something very much like a hiccup caught in his breath as he spotted Eorling, the friendly little boy he had gotten to know only an hour ago, lying in an awkward position to his left on top of a dead uruk.

_Where was his father?_ was Harry's brief thought before he realised. _He must be dead_.

Not wasting precious time he flew down and landed jarringly next to the bundle of boy and orc. All it took was a look at Eorling's face to confirm that the boy was alive, unconscious, but in pain.

He pointed his wand. "_Petrificus Totalis_."

At least he wouldn't be feeling any now.

"_Protego_!" he said quickly, and the arching orc sword bounced harmlessly off the barrier. The uruk responsible growled in rage but Harry incinerated it, then turned his attention to the boy.

He didn't have much time.

He wished he could somehow banish Eorling into where all the women were hiding, but he hadn't learned that far in school, and . . . wait a minute! Heart thumping madly he looked down at his wand, then at Eorling's sword, which lay loose in the boy's hand. If he could somehow make the sword into a portkey . . . He had seen Dumbledore make a portkey in the atrium of the Ministry last year so he knew the charm, and Hermione had gone on enough about them over the summer holidays at the Burrow that he had a pretty good idea of how one was supposed to be made.

Picking up the boy's sword he concentrated, thought of the caves, and said in what he hoped was a confident voice, "_Portus_."

The sword glowed blue for a minute, then became cold steel once more.

_Great_! he thought happily. As long as Eorling doesn't end up in Mordor or something.

A swish, a heavy thud, then something striking him in the back caused Harry to jump up and whirl around in alarm.

Gimli, chest heaving, yanked his axe from out of an uruk's chest. "I have not yet noticed eyes in the back of your head, laddie. Wizard or not that strike would have felled you where you so carelessly sat."

"Gimli!" he cried in relief.

The dwarf humphed, killed an onrushing uruk, then wiped sweat from his beard. "Do what you must with the boy then concentrate on the battle. I will cover your back!"

"Right."

Harry gently rolled Eorling off of the dead uruk (wouldn't do to have it turn up in the caves) then placed the sword in his hands. In an instant he was gone.

When Harry turned around again Gimli was being lifted in the arms of an uruk (rather like a football player would do) and knocked jarringly into the nearby wall. Before Harry could help, Gimli arched his axe over the top of the uruk's head and sunk it deep into its back.

It dropped like a stone.

It didn't even reach the ground before the dwarf threw his axe at Harry, who, eyes wide, ducked hastily. A squelching noise from behind confirmed that Gimli had gotten to yet another target.

"Ha ha!" he yelled. "Twenty-nine!" Then he took off past Harry, grabbed his axe, and ran on stout legs alongside the tier of the wall.

Harry shook his head. He needed to concentrate more. Twice he'd nearly been killed because of carelessness.

With his never before used elvish sword in one hand and his wand in the other, Harry fought. Instinctively, he knew he was the most advantaged person there. He had magic on his side, which he used to help men and elves on occasion, but mostly to protect himself. His sword flopped awkwardly a couple of times when he tried to use it. It could have been because it was in his left hand, but most likely it was because Harry had never learned to use one properly before. Second year in the Chamber of Secrets didn't count as the basilisk had not owned a sword that could parry and defend against his own. Just a couple of fangs and a fast, snappish body.

Finally, when an uruk tripped over the dead body of one of its brethren and actually _fell_ onto his sword, Harry knew it was time to abandon that approach. It was unlikely that the same coincidence would happen again. He hooked his sword to his belt, and moved on.

As Harry mounted his Firebolt and flew to the far right side of Helm's Deep a shout caught his attention.

He raised his brows in shock.

It was true he had never liked Haldir, the elf was far too much like Draco Malfoy for him to even contemplate that emotion, but they'd come to a truce earlier that evening. He had even found that Haldir was grudgingly tolerable and possessed a wry sense of humour that, when not directed at Harry, was quite amusing.

He was currently surrounded by no less than five uruks.

The shout had been because one of them had slashed his back with a scimitar.

Harry knew that if he had been further away he wouldn't have been able to hear the elf as the various battle sounds would have swallowed the shout.

But he wasn't far away, and he did hear the shout.

Not even thinking about it Harry unclipped his sword from his belt, swooped down, and sunk it into an uruk that was just about to empty its blade into the elf's belly.

Haldir nodded to him gratefully, if a little puzzlingly, and continued fighting.

Harry doing the same.

It was obvious that the elf was still in pain, though.

For the next ten minutes Harry fought with his magic. Fire spells, stunning hexes (the recipients of which would quickly get pierced by his sword), petrify's, protego's ―anything Harry could think of, he used.

Shooting into the air once again, he surveyed the battle. There was still many, many uruk-hai throwing themselves over the wall. He tried to look for his friends but couldn't seem to find them. Any flashes of silver-blond hair that caught his attention belonged to elves Harry had never met, and the shortest people there were certainly not dwarves. The children were, for the most part, safe, hiding behind their father's legs or huddled together behind a large boulder protected by a group of men.

Finally, Harry spotted something.

And a stone sank into his stomach when he did.

Boromir was standing on the battlements over the main gate and fighting in the midst of what looked like black pillows with all the stuffing come out of them. But they weren't. They were crows. Attacking him from all sides. And not just crows, but an uruk as well. The steward was slashing and cleaving at the air with his blade, but only managed to get some of them. The crows that is. Those he did get were being pierced one by one on his sword, rather like a kebab. And, like a kebab, the amount of length that the crows were getting pierced on was soon to run out. Plus the sword must have been getting quite heavy with all the dead birds stuck to it. Add to that the large uruk attacking him constantly with its scimitar ―which Boromir could only block with his shield as his sword was occupied― and he seemed to be in quite a mess.

"Boromir duck!" Harry shouted, positioning his broom.

The steward did so, not even looking around to see who had spoken.

Harry shot forward over his friend's form and rammed into the crows, splitting them straight in the middle, rather like bowling pins. They squawked and screeched and one of them soared, twister-like, straight into the mountain of rock where it splattered. The remaining crows, those that hadn't been knocked unconscious or killed by the force of Harry's attack, scattered.

_Score: nine_, he thought amusedly.

_Swish!_

Harry gasped and jerked back ―in time to avoid becoming the scimitar's next meal.

His broom wasn't so lucky.

In a great crunching noise that Harry knew would stay with him to the end of his days the orc sword severed the top of his broom, avoiding his right hand by a mere centimetre. All that was left were large, jagged prickles where the top bit of his Firebolt used to reside. That, and air.

"No!"

Harry was stunned. Shocked. Poleaxed. So much so that he almost missed seeing Boromir kill the uruk responsible.

His broom. His Firebolt. One of his most treasured possessions.

"_Just think of it as twelve years worth of birthday presents from your godfather."_

His eyes felt hot.

He knew he was being stupid. The damage was hardly irreparable, but he couldn't seem to help himself. Perhaps it was because he _wouldn't_ be able to fix it until he worked out how to travel between dimensions with all his stuff. But he couldn't fly it now; unless he held a particular fancy for being jerked, bounced, and butted about.

He was so shocked that he didn't even remember getting off of the injured Firebolt. But he must have done because he was now standing on the stone ground, broom in hand, unmindful of the battle going on around him. All he seemed to be seeing was the jagged edge of his faithful broom, where twenty centimetres had been lopped off. And where _had _those twenty centimetres gone? Harry suddenly got a mad urge to go and search for them.

He didn't get a chance because an anxious voice shouting, "Harry! Harry! For pity's sake!" snapped him out of his urgent daze.

Boromir, sword in one hand and battle axe in the other was standing before Harry, parrying and shielding various attacks from all sides. He had also been defending Harry, who, in his dazed state hadn't noticed that he would have been killed from the rampaging attacks.

He noticed now.

As a particularly grotesque uruk with sharper teeth than usual slipped passed Boromir's defences and ran towards him, he lifted his wand arm.

"_Crucio!_"

It worked better than it had at the Department of Mysteries that was certain.

The uruk instantly dropped to the ground, clawing its eyes, twitching, screaming – ah, Merlin the screaming. How it screamed. Loud. _Loud_. _LOUD_!

It wasn't a human sound. Definitely not; which was perhaps the reason why Harry was able to prolong the curse for so long.

It was like a mixture between an eagle screech, a lion roar, a cow yelp, and something else entirely that cause shivers of nervous sweat to seep down his spine.

Within a minute it was over.

The uruk, dead.

Harry didn't feel anything. Unless being numb was considered a feeling.

He knew he shouldn't be feeling numb. This _thing_ wasn't even a person. Hadn't he killed many of them before? And in much more grotesque and innovative ways? What made it so different this time? Harry had a horrible feeling he knew what it was. He had to face the terrible truth ―it was because he had killed something using dark magic. It didn't matter that that something was a dark creature in and of itself, but Harry wasn't. Harry wasn't a dark creature. Harry was Harry. Harry Potter. That was him. Son of James and Lily Potter. Godson of Sirius Black.

He was crying and hadn't even known it.

The battle had stopped and he hadn't even known it.

Everyone was watching him, and had since he'd first started cursing the uruk, and he hadn't even known it.

He knew it now.

Every uruk was dead.

Harry had killed them all.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Helm's Deep was still five hours away when the white wizard felt it.

Magic.

Dark Magic.

Certainly not evil ―the intent had been good― but heavily dark just the same.

Something had happened.

Throwing a shout over his shoulder at the still riding Rohirrim, who had obviously not felt anything out of the ordinary, Gandalf urged Shadowfax faster.

Something had happened.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"I shall use you for kindle!" shouted Saruman up in his tower, enraged at the trespassing ents that were causing unprecedented destruction to his home.

He had been a fool not to think that they could have been a threat. Ents minded their business and kept to their own affairs. They had been so distanced from the world outside Fangorn that they had forgotten many things in the long ages past.

What had changed?

He howled again as a great tower of water ―water from _his_ dam― collapsed over the cliff. He waved his staff at them in rage, but there was naught he could do.

He . . .

. . . instantly stopped raging.

Eyes flitted manically; fists clenched white knuckled over his staff as a foreboding intruded upon his thoughts.

Something was using dark magic.

At Helm's Deep.

_The wizard!_

Enraged anew at this happening Saruman ran inside and locked himself in his tower.

The magic might have been dark, but the user was more than a beacon for good.

Something told him he would be next on the list.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Nice one Merry," Pippin complimented as his cousin pitched a rock at an orc's head.

"Oh, well done Master Merry," Treebeard hoomed in his deep, deep gravely voice.

"Thank you," Merry said graciously. "I was actually aiming for . . .Treebeard?"

The Ent whose shoulders (if shoulders were the appropriate term. Perhaps "head" would have been better) they were riding on turned around as fast as he was able and let out a deep, thoughtful "Hoooommmm."

It was only then that the hobbits noticed, by looking twitchily around, that every single ent had done the same. They were all staring at some far flung distance over the mountains.

Glancing at each other in confusion, the hobbits shrugged, and did the same.

They had no idea what they were looking for.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

They had both felt it.

She and Celeborn.

Galadriel did not need her seeing pool to tell her what had occurred. The recoil of dark magic was potent. Anyone with power would have felt it, if they were not too far away.

"It has finally happened, then? He has done it?"

Her eyes blinked slowly, ethereally. "Yes, my lord. All has come to pass, just as I have predicted."

"He will be the better for it, my wife" Celeborn assured her. "It can ultimately only help him to aide his soul and his mind. All his decisions now will have a root at which to look back and observe . . . and heal. It will be the truth both in his world and in this one. You have foreseen it."

She turned loving eyes to her husband. "Nothing is certain."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

In Mordor, despite the destruction of Saruman's army and the invasion of Isenguard, The Great Eye laughed.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"He walks in waking dreams."

Anyone present could have made this observation, but the one who did was renowned for being wise, and so, was taken more seriously than if any one of the others had made it.

"Can you help him, Gandalf?"

The old wizard shook his head and looked upon the prone boy lying on the mattress of straw, staring at the ceiling, unseeing. "I could. He used dark magic. Powerful dark magic. Even I felt its power leagues away. It is not a natural sleep in which he dwells. So yes, I could help him." Gandalf the White then turned kind, gentle eyes on the man beside him. "But he does not wish me to, Boromir. He wishes to fight this himself."

"I do not understand why this is happening!" The son of the Steward of Gondor paced. "He has saved us all, yet he feels guilt?" His expression portrayed bewilderment. "So what if he used dark magic? Against a man, now that is a different matter. Yet uruk-hai were the focus of his attack. Surely he cannot be thinking . . .?" Frustrated, he raked a gloved hand, still caked with dried orc blood, through his hair.

Gandalf merely sighed and leaned against his staff. "You worry needlessly. Harry will awaken when he feels the time is right." He paused. "I sense that this magic Harry unleashed is somehow supposed to be more potent than any other magic he knows. It is supposed to cause pain while it kills. _That_ is what is troubling to him, I believe. In fact, I do not even think it is supposed to kill. Or kill so many at the same time. Perhaps it is only because they are . . . _were_ uruk-hai. It could be that the curse was not meant to be cast on anything but men. After all, there are no uruk in Harry's world. Men and Wizards are the dominant breeds. Nonetheless I shall have to think on this. If only I had stolen some of the weed from Saruman's stockroom. I would have liked sitting down with a pipe in hand. Most conducive to thinking.

"Though," he continued, sounding put upon, "now is not the time to be dwelling on things that are out of even a wizard's reach."

Aragorn, who had been staring at the young wizard for the whole while, spoke softly: "It chilled me."

The others knew what he was speaking of at once.

"It was a most horrid sound," Legolas agreed. "Mistake me not I have no sympathy for _yrch_," he added, sounding horrified himself at the mere thought of the suggestion, "the screams, however; they were piercing to the ear. Never had I heard such . . . pain. At least not when expressed by those abominations."

Gimli nodded thoughtfully and stroked his beard. "Aye, it was that."

Gandalf hemmed importantly. "We shall leave him to rest now. No harm will befall him here. Theoden is most grateful to him, and no doubt wishing he can thank him. I must speak to Theoden myself as well. Likely he is feeling very overwhelmed at the moment. Men have never understood magic and regard it with high suspicion. The Dunedain are the exception, of course," he added, nodding at Aragorn.

For a minute they stared at the silent boy on the bed.

"And no one knows what became of this Head Master wizard?" Gandalf said.

"No," Aragorn sighed. "Here he slept while the battle commenced, yet he was gone when it ended."

"I should have liked to meet this Dumbledore, if he is as wise and powerful as you say, but I was right with my earlier thoughts. He was not supposed to be here, and neither was that Fawkes creature. Which is why I was permitted to sense them. Luckily they are not here anymore, and luckily Saruman had run out of time and cunning to send anything more devious than the Crebain."

"Luckily we had Harry with us," Gimli mumbled.

"We are indeed lucky, Master Gimli! But come, let him rest, we shall pop in again in an hour or two."

The wizard ushered what remained of the broken Fellowship out of the room and gently closed the door behind him.

They arrived on the keep, looking over the wall and upon the field where the thousands and thousands of uruk-hai were being thrown into large piles and set alight. The burning fires of rank orc flesh seared the eyes and played havoc with the lungs. Coughing, Gandalf motioned with a gnarled hand and withdrew from the Deeping Wall.

He did not manage to find Theoden in the antechamber next to the main hall, nor did he manage to find him in the main hall itself. He concluded that the king must be asleep, eating, or bathing. He _did_ manage to bump into Haldir.

Remembering what Aragorn had told him, and how Harry had saved the elf, Gandalf could not resist a little riddling.

"Hardly the time it is to walk about, young elf," he said. The main hall was playing host to the wounded, as was Haldir, despite the injury to his back. "Those that died today would be most put upon to think themselves lucky. And those that didn't die today would think exactly the opposite. Though, either can be reversed if the person wishes them to be."

The elf cocked his silver-haired head to the side and regarded the old wizard with speculation. "I would not pretend to know the riddling ways of wizards, Master Gandalf, and I would not pretend to known what you are talking about either. I will merely hold my tongue until you decide to tell me."

Gandalf laughed, "Well said March Warden! No one being can fall into a trap of words if they but simply stand and listen."

Haldir allowed a few comfortable seconds to pass in which he and Gandalf observed both elf and human healers alike tend to the wounded. Some had lost limbs, others worse injuries such as the loss of sight, but all would live. He asked quietly, "How is the young one?"

"If by 'young one' you mean Harry Potter . . ." the wizard sighed. "His eyes are awake but his mind is elsewhere. He is coping as best he can."

The elf took this news seriously. "Can you not help him?"

"I could, yet Harry's mind forbids me access. It is most strong. I feel that the Ring, when it was part of the Fellowship, quite possibly had no effect upon him at all. He might have felt some inkling of power from it, but that is all."

"Why is that, do you think?"

"It could be any number of reasons. Harry is from a different world than our own so his body might not have been adapted to our world yet, therefore his essence, his soul, was not recognised by the Ring. It could be simply because Harry is a wizard, and perhaps wizards in his world have a special magic to protect themselves from such things. It could be only that the Ring felt it would not benefit being worn by Harry because, just as he was not originally part of Middle Earth, that also means he does not have connections with any high and influential persons living here. And Sauron would not have been able to exploit Harry's power for his own gain either because if Harry took the Ring he, as a wizard, would be powerful enough to hold on to it. Then Sauron would have lost everything. And we would have had a new Dark Lord to deal with. But who knows, it could even be all those reasons combined."

Haldir looked thoughtful. "Have you any ideas as to why that spell so affected the _yrch_?"

"I have given it some thought," Gandalf replied carefully. "But I would not discuss such with you, Haldir, unless I had Harry's consent first. No no, take no offence! You might be getting along better with him but it is, to be frank, none of your business. Elves are usually not so inquisitive. Why are you?"

Haldir took that as an insult, as was his due. "I am merely concerned, Mithrandir. Am I not allowed to feel remorse for his situation?"

Gandalf patted him on the shoulder. "Forgive me, of course you are."

The wizard left Haldir to his musings and continued on his way.

He found Theoden's sister-daughter walking up the corridor toward him. "Ah, Eowyn," he greeted cheerily. "Do you, perchance, know where your uncle has drifted? With the way he has disappeared I find myself thinking he might have escaped under a rock to avoid speaking to me."

Any hopes that Gandalf had had of making her smile were dashed when she responded without the slightest hint of one. "In a way he has, Mithrandir. I last saw him at the caves. Though that was over an hour ago. I do not know where he could have gone in that time."

"Many thanks."

Theoden was not in the caves. He was, however, in his rooms.

Gamling, Theoden's manservant, left hastily at the wizard's prodding eyebrows, shutting the door behind him.

The king was at his bath.

Gandalf made himself comfortable on the end of the large bed. He felt around his robes for his pipe but did not withdraw it, remembering, in the last second, that he had no pipe weed with which to smoke.

Theoden sat tucked in the wooden tub, arms hanging off the sides. "He sleeps, then?"

Gandalf refrained from sighing, and quickly explained Harry's situation for what was the third time in the past hour.

"I cannot thank him enough," he said quietly when the wizard was finished. "I shall make him a citizen of Rohan. Always will he be welcome in my halls, and on my lands."

"Just do not offer him any special considerations or honours," Gandalf warned. "If I know wizards―" he chuckled here, "―and I do, we do our duty, we do our purpose, and that is all. Harry would be most gracious if you were to gift him with either reward, but he would be most uncomfortable and modest as well. He would not know what to do with it." Secretly Gandalf told himself that Harry's reactions would be unpredictable. Dark Magic clouded everything, and Harry's thoughts were unfocused now.

"I thank you for your wisdom, Mithrandir," said Theoden, and Gandalf knew he would heed his advice.

They chatted for a few more pleasant minutes before Gandalf made his way back to Harry's room. He strolled inside, and froze.

"What are you here?" he bellowed.

The young men who were gathered around Harry's bed jumped guiltily and whirled around.

Gandalf had no patience for them. Now Harry's condition would be spread throughout the whole of Helm's Deep by the hour. The boy did not need that at the moment. "Out! Out! All of you! Can you not see he is resting?"

They did not move. "Who Gandalf?" a boy of fifteen winters asked bravely. "If you mean Master Harry he is not here. That is why we came, to see him. We have entered the wrong room, 'tis obvious. Though how can that be, when his tunic and robe is still here? I do not understand how. . ."

Gandalf was moving as soon as the words 'he is not here' were said. Dashing as fast as his robes would allow him toward the bed (the boys scattered at his approach) he came to a halt.

The bed was empty of any boy wizards, but his clothing was indeed still there, lying exactly in the position Harry had been in before.

"It has happened again," was all Gandalf mumbled.

The boys merely looked confusedly at each other.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

A/N: Well, that's that for now. I know it wasn't what anyone was expecting, but I had fun writing it.

Tell me what you think.


	17. Of Talks

Disclaimer: J.R.R.Tolkien owns Lord of the Rings. J.K.Rowling owns Harry Potter. I do not. This is an amateur attempt and I am making no profit.

A/N: Thanks to everyone who reviewed, as well as those who took the time to read the last chapter. This chapter is a bit shorter than the others perhaps, but I felt it was a good place to end it.

Enjoy.

xxxxxx

**Chapter Seventeen: Of Talks**

It was not a very cold day outside nor should it have been, being summer and all, but the hospital wing made the air seem of cold stone and sterile smells and newly washed bedpans, and this was where Harry was now.

Dumbledore lay on the bed. Harry stood next to it and watched as that little bit of moustache quivered every time he breathed out.

"You may go now, Mr Potter," said Madame Pomfrey, who was fussing over Dumbledore's forehead.

"But―" said Harry.

"It's too soon," she interrupted impatiently. "I keep telling you he won't get better yet, and you keep coming anyway. If there's a change, I'll owl you, or floo you, whatever the case."

"Right," said Harry dully.

For a moment, Madame Pomfrey looked as if she might relent at is bland tone, but then fierce determination settled in her eyes. "Off you go. Molly would have my head if you three didn't come back before dark."

With one last glance at Dumbledore ― who was now being helped to drink water through a magically suspended funnel ― Harry left the room.

Hermione and Ron were waiting for him in the Room of Requirement, which was shifted to mimic a cosy tea room. They stood as he entered. Cool pumpkin juice appeared next to the little teas, jams, and toasts on the minute table. Harry took a goblet and drained it.

"Is he any better?" asked Hermione, sitting down again when Harry plonked in the seat next to hers.

"It's only been an hour since you last saw him, Hermione," said Harry.

She bit her lip, and said quietly. "That's what I tried to tell you ten minutes ago."

Harry said nothing.

Ron sat down. "McGonagall can't work out what happened with Fawkes?" he asked, when the silence became just that tinge of awkward.

Harry shook his head. He had gone to visit McGonagall's office before he'd went to see Dumbledore again. Earlier, he had been forced to tell McGonagall and Madame Pomfrey about his forays to another dimension when the latter had spotted him levitating an unconscious Dumbledore onto a bed in the hospital wing. Not that he wouldn't have told her eventually (he would have had to, if she were to treat Dumbledore), but she had caught him unsuspected.

"He didn't come back when Dumbledore and I came back. I think," he looked down and drew a breath," I think he might have taken the brunt of the onslaught into himself so that Dumbledore would have a chance."

Ron gulped. "You don't mean to say that Fawkes is . . . well, you know?"

Harry shrugged slightly. "I don't know. I mean I saw him explode into ash, but that's what Phoenix's do, right? But there were no flames . . . and he's not here, is he? I," he glanced up at them and said quickly, "I have this crazy theory that he might be trapped in a void between dimensions or something. Like a black hole."

Hermione raised her brows. "That's a very broad theory, Harry. And very, well, very advanced. How did you come up with it?"

"Nothing like what you're thinking. Just a dream I had once," Harry muttered, thinking back to the Dumbledore-induced nightmare he'd had about chasing after the Sorting Hat on his Firebolt through the brunt of space. "But it sort of makes sense, doesn't it?"

"I'll have to go the library," Hermione said, looking excited at the thought of something new to explore.

Harry _almost_ smiled at her.

Ron took a jam tart and stuffed it into his mouth. "How are you doing, mate?" he asked, for once swallowing before attempting to speak.

Harry did not miss the implication of Ron's question. Nor the emphasis on that 'you'. "I'm fine. . . Really," he added at his friends' look of doubt. "It might have taken me a couple of days, but I've gotten over what I did. They weren't human anyway. They were . . . well they're monsters and I'm glad I cursed them. It just took me a little bit to realise. That rest I had really opened my eyes. Merlin!" He reached up and raked his hair in a combined gesture of frustration and relief. "I was stupid. But it was a good sort of stupid. I learned some things about life and death . . . and vulnerability."

"Well of course it's good," agreed Hermione in her typically overbearing tone. "I mean if you hadn't killed all those uruk things, people would have died. Children would have died."

Harry took a sip from his newly replenished goblet. "That's what I ended up realising. That, and the fact that sometimes you have to do what you have to do."

"I think," said Hermione, her eyes gentle and proud, "that that's a very mature way of looking at it, Harry."

The subsequent silence, unlike before, was pleasant.

Eventually, Ron stood up. "Let's go," he said, looking between them. "Mum expects us home in five minutes and I don't fancy hearing her screech if we're late."

One by one they flooed out.

Mrs Weasley was there to greet Harry as he stepped out of the fireplace. She took his cloak and pinned it to the hooks next to the mantelpiece.

"Come along, Harry dear," she said, ushering him towards the kitchen, "I've made supper. Is Albus any better?"

Harry really didn't want to think about Dumbledore just then, especially after his discussion with Ron and Hermione, but he found himself explaining anyway. Dumbledore, after all, had been Mrs Weasley's headmaster as well, and was now her friend. "Madame Pomfrey says he'll be all right in a while," he told her. "He's not in a coma, like we first thought, but his magic was depleted so he's 'metaphysically exhausted' to use her exact words. She says she's never seen anything like that before."

"I'd imagine not," Mrs Weasley said restlessly. "It's very unusual for a wizard's magic to exhaust itself. Though I can't imagine what Albus has been doing to warrant an attack on his own magic like that." Then she gestured to a chair at the end of the table before rushing off to the oven.

Bill and Fleur grinned in greeting as he sat down between Fred and George.

"All right, Harry?" they chorused.

Harry's first response had been to assure that everything was fine, that he was fine, but he found he just couldn't lie at the moment. "No. Not really. But it's alright, because I think I will be."

A hint of surprise registered on the faces sitting around the table, but that was quickly forgotten when Mrs Weasley set down a large plateful of delicious pot roast under their noses.

xxxx

The grass on the hill beside the Burrow was still slightly damp from the previous night's drizzle, but Harry found himself not caring, even when the wet seeped through his jeans. Dawn had only just disappeared, and the sun was stubbornly climbing the sky, giving birth to a rupture of orange and reds. It was the sort of scene Harry hardly ever noticed, but it seemed viable as a distraction right now.

"I'm going back tonight," he said quietly.

Silence greeted him on either side.

Finally, sighing, Hermione revealed, "I sort of thought you would be. You've been slightly vacant the last few days, ever since you came back actually."

"I'm going to try and take stuff with me this time; after all it worked for my broom."

Harry had arrived three days ago in Dumbledore's office at the same time Dumbledore had. Both had been de-clothed, with the exception of Harry's broken Firebolt tightly clutched in one white-knuckled hand. Harry had surmised that, because of his recent loss of almost a quarter of the broom (and as he had so desperately been thinking about it) that he had unconsciously taken it with him.

"What sort of things are you going to try and take?"

"Well, for one, clothes on my back ought to keep me from landing in an embarrassed heap at the foot of almost kings," he told Ron.

They snorted. "What?"

Harry grinned, but didn't bother to elaborate. "But besides that, I'm taking my Nimbus 2001 . . . if I can. I'd rather take that than the clothes, to be honest."

Two days ago, with Tonks and Moody on guard duty, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny (who still didn't know about his dimension-hopping) had gone to Diagon Alley on the pretence of buying the rest of their new school supplies for the coming Hogwarts year, which would begin in a week's time. They had bought the supplies, but Harry had also purchased a new broom since his Firebolt was unrepairable — at present. Harry still held onto the hope that McGonagall might be able to fix it, but he couldn't stop thinking about his first broom and the toothpick-like splinters that it had been reduced to. Nothing on the level his Firebolt now looked like, of course, but McGonagall had told him (much to his disappointment) that the more magic put into a broom the harder it was to fix as it would need a similar amount of magic put back into it. And Firebolts were the best of the best. But whatever managed to happen (or not), Harry would still keep his old Firebolt as a memento to Sirius.

Hermione had suggested getting it glass-cased and put on a wall. Harry had taken to the idea . . . until he'd remembered the Dursleys.

"Well I think you should at least take some potions with you. If you can't brew them in time, which you probably won't if you're leaving tonight, you should take some ingredients and last years potions book instead. I mean, you're going to be in the middle of a war! Healing potions will do wonders."

"I agree. It's just . . . I'm a little worried I won't be able to keep everything with me. I mean, what if it gets lost between dimensions or something?"

Hermione stared. "Maybe. But I still think the most disadvantageous thing you can do is unintentionally leave it here. Besides which, I wouldn't think that our potion ingredients could be found anywhere in your Middle Earth. You told us about this _Athelas_ plant that that Aragorn man used on that hobbit . . . I don't even know what that is, and I've looked everywhere for a reference."

"It's a Middle Earth plant."

"I think she's figured that, Harry," said Ron, eyeing Hermione's increasingly red face.

"Yes, thank you," said Hermione tersely, then turned to Harry. "But I wish you'd bring back some when we see you again next time. It'll be fascinating observing its properties, and what reactions it'll have to this or that root, and so forth."

"You're getting a little ahead of yourself, Hermione," Ron said as she whipped around to glare at him. "I'm just saying . . . Harry can't afford to think about things like that right now. As you said, he's going to be in a war."

Harry and Hermione both blinked at Ron's suddenly serious tone.

"That's just . . . that's true," she admitted, then blinked again.

Harry and Ron exchanged amused glances. It wasn't often that Hermione had nothing to say, and when she did, it was awfully funny. She looked lost.

"Well, as long as you're careful, that's all that matters, Harry," she said at last.

"I will be," Harry promised.

Ron disappeared a couple of minutes later and came back with a pot of tea and three cups. They ended up drinking while watching the scenery.

Harry set down his cup. Now was the time to speak. After what had happened with the uruk-hai on Helm's Deep Harry knew he couldn't afford to be let off guard again, and he didn't just mean in Middle Earth. No, he meant with Voldemort.

"I want us to train," he told them.

Ron picked up his cup. "What d'you mean?"

"I mean I want to train. I have to get better. You have to get better, too."

Ron opened his mouth, perhaps in retaliation, but then decided against saying anything.

Hermione frowned. "What about that book Professor Lupin gave you?"

"I've read it, and I've tried some spells ― and they actually worked, surprisingly ― but it's not the same as having someone else to practise with." He looked at her. "I want to start up the DA again."

Her brows rose.

"It won't be illegal this time," Harry reminded her, "So there'll be no one to rat on us."

"I'd forgotten about that," she frowned thoughtfully. "And I've just thought of something else. The time you spend in Middle Earth, well it's the perfect opportunity to study, isn't it? I mean when you're not fighting," she hastened to add.

"I've already thought of that. That's why I read Lupin's book before going back that last time, but that's not precisely what I meant about the training, Hermione."

She looked at him. "What are you talking about?"

"I wanted to ask Lupin about, well about becoming an animagus."

Ron choked on his tea. He came up spluttering. "Wicked!"

But Hermione was frowning. "As much as I like the idea, Harry . . . and I expect it'll be very useful against Voldemort, especially if you go the unregistered route―" Harry didn't bother to mention that he hadn't considered any other route "―but it's also really dangerous. Do you realise the repercussions if you do something wrong? You could end up a half elephant."

Ron was suddenly overcome with a fit of sniggering, and a bit of tea shot out of his nose as a result. "A, a, a half elephant," he managed, before snorting even more violently.

Hermione sighed irritably. "Yes, Ronald, a half elephant. Or half anything actually―"

"But if Lupin will be there . . ." Harry trailed off.

"That's an extra precaution, Harry, but still no guarantee."

"Let me put it this way," he said, leaning forward. "Would you do it if a trained Ministry official were to oversee the process?"

Hermione didn't hesitate. "Yes."

Harry arched his brows.

She sighed. "Oh all right. If Professor Lupin agrees . . ."

Harry grinned. "You were going to give in eventually, Hermione."

"Yeah," Ron added. "No way would you have passed up the opportunity to learn something so advanced. Nor would you have let us get away with learning something while you just sat in the background, twiddling your thumbs."

"Oh shut up," Hermione said, but she was smiling.

xxxx

Harry went to see Dumbledore one last time before his trip to Middle Earth.

He didn't make it past the threshold.

"And I keep telling you Mr Potter, that he's still not awake. You'd already visited five times yesterday and once today, all of which I'd told you the same thing. I'll endeavour to explain once more, and that is it: It is unlikely that Headmaster Dumbledore will wake up anytime soon. His magic is just too exhausted."

"But―"

"Rest assured that I'll inform you of any change. Now shoo. He needs his rest."

Harry was tempted to point out that Dumbledore had been resting for the past four days, but thought twice about it when he spotted the hard gleam in the hospital matron's eye.

"Worse than Pince," Harry mumbled after she shut the hospital wing door in his face.

"I heard that!"

Harry got out of there sharpish.

xxxx

Ron stepped into the room and closed the door. "Hermione's just arrived. D'you have everything? Besides the obvious, I mean."

Harry, lying flat on the spare bed in Ron's room, counted his items absently. "Not yet, Ginny's still out flying. Did Hermione manage to sneak into the library?"

Ron flapped a hand. "Course. With no Pince to waylay her . . . you know I think she got lost in there for the first time."

Harry laughed.

Hermione slipped into the room. "Sorry about the wait. Mrs Weasley wanted to confirm a recipe of my mum's. Here we are," she said, holding up a thin leather-bound text entitled: _So You Want To Become an Animagus?: Steps for the rudimentary learner. _The cover showed a pencil-drawn rendition of a man morphing into a tiger, and back again.

"Did you find that in the Restricted Section?" Harry asked, accepting the book with a grateful nod.

"No," Hermione admitted. Then smiled. "It was actually behind Madam Pince's counter, locked in a cabinet."

"Locked with magic?" Ron asked.

"Strangely no. Alohamora opened it." She shrugged. "I expect Madam Pince thought no one would dare look behind there. And since there are usually no students at Hogwarts during the summer holidays, she must have thought it was safe."

"We'll have to put it back before school starts, then," said Harry, placing it in his knapsack along with the other items.

"Or transfigure a new cover over some blank cardboard," Hermione suggested.

They stared.

"What? There's no point putting that book back. There's only a week of holidays left, and we can hardly work everything out in that time. If we put it back we'll never get to it otherwise. We might as well keep it."

"That's stealing," Ron said, still staring.

"Yes," said Hermione, slowly. "But it's not stealing if the recipient doesn't know about it. Besides, I doubt Madam Pince even looks at it. It's more likely she'd confiscated it from some hapless student years ago. Why else would it be in a locked drawer?"

"Because it's dangerous," Harry proposed.

"If that were the case, it would have been in the Restricted Section. There are books in there that are far more dangerous." She motioned for Ron to shuffle over then sat next to him on the bed. "Now that that's out of the way . . . you will promise to study it won't you? When you have the time, of course," she added hastily. "That way you can give it straight to us when you come back."

"Excellent," Ron said. "Wastes less time."

Harry nodded. "It's a good idea."

"And," said Hermione, looking exited. "You might want to think about asking that wizard for some advice, if you see him. He's magic may be different from ours, but he's lived for thousands of years. The knowledge he must have access to . . ." her eyes were shining strangely and a dreamy smile had taken over her face.

"I'll, er, do that," Harry promised, trying very hard not to grin.

" . . . told you I don't want it! Find someone else to test it out!" Ginny's voice sounded extremely irritable.

Another voice, either Fred or George's, answered undiscernibly.

"You can't bribe me!" Ginny threatened. "You didn't want to give me the Pygmy Puffs when I asked for them! It's too late now!"

Ron's door opened forcefully as Ginny stepped through. Her cheeks were rosy and she was looking very windswept. In her hand she held Harry's new broom.

She handed it over with a smile. "Thanks Harry. Might not be as good as your old Firebolt, but it's still one of the best brooms on the market."

Trying not to think about why the sight of Ginny's smile had caused his stomach to jump, Harry accepted the Nimbus and put it alongside his knapsack. "Have a good fly I take it?"

She grinned at him like he shouldn't have asked. "Of course." Then she looked around. "Mum says dinner should be ready in another half hour. Want to play Exploding Snap?"

xxxxxx

Harry arrived on a bed in a room he didn't remember seeing before. Something dug into his back and he turned over.

His wand!

He continued looking, eyes growing wider. His clothes (which must have been stacked in a neat pile, but were now squashed because Harry had landed on them) were lying at the foot of the bed. As was his minute trunk.

He stood up.

And felt something waving by his side. He looked down. "My bag! I did it!" He checked inside to make sure everything had made it. It had!

He perused himself, amusement crinkling his lips as he saw what had happened to his clothes.

Harry had one sock on his left foot, and a shoe on his right. His trousers were missing, but his jumper was in the right place. All in all, Harry was pleased with himself . . . until he remembered what he hadn't seen.

His new Nimbus had not made the trip.

"Blast," Harry mumbled, but there was nothing he could do about it. He'd just have to take it with him next time around.

He quickly dressed in all the missing items, pocketed his wand and trunk, and walked out.

Helm's Deep still wasn't deserted, thankfully. Harry had been a bit worried about that, but he'd only been away for four days. If he used Dumbledore's logic, then only a quarter of the time would pass in Middle Earth in comparison to the time spent on Earth, which meant he'd only been away for a day.

"Barmy," Harry muttered, and quickly nodded in response to Gamling's greeting. But the man still looked at him as though he were mental. Harry figured that talking to oneself was as much of a sign of madness in Middle Earth as it was at home.

Harry did not take into account that Gamling might have been staring in awe and, perhaps, a little fear.

As luck would have it the second person he came upon was Gandalf, who was sitting on the stairs positioned in front of the great hall, enjoying an early morning pipe. Harry noted, as he sat down beside him, that he looked cleaner than he had the last time Harry had seen him.

Gandalf drew a puff, turned, and blinked.

Then puffed out.

Abruptly, he came out of his stupor, eyes shining. "Forgive me, Harry. You gave me quite a surprise, though not as much of a surprise as you will give the others when they see you, I think." He patted Harry's hand. "It is very good to see you, young wizard."

"And you," Harry looked him over properly. Gandalf the White. "I, I thought you were . . . I mean Aragorn told me you were alive . . . but it's still difficult . . ."

Gandalf nodded, sighed. "I understand. Believe me, I understand. Even for me, for one who has experienced it, it is a difficult concept to comprehend . . . and you have a message. Oh my," he blinked and chuckled. "I have just remembered."

Harry blinked at the changed of subject. "Pardon?"

Gandalf continued as if Harry hadn't spoken. "I must deliver it, as it was given to me to be passed on to you." He paused a moment, then, "Galadriel says, 'Congratulations,' and we will leave it at that for the present. I assumed you know what she means?"

"Boromir," Harry whispered.

Gandalf smiled like he had a secret, or like he knew Harry was going to say that. "Yes, that. No, no need to be alarmed. Galadriel told me all." He chuckled. "You'll find that there are no secrets between what is left of the White Council. And a bit of foreknowledge does help in the extreme."

He dragged in a bit of smoke, then loop-holed it back out until it formed a very correct bow. Harry watched it float away with the breeze. "Rohan weed. Not as good as the Longbottom Leaf, but it was the only one I could find. Now―" he banged his pipe against his palm until it extinguished "―have you had breakfast, yet? I hear the women are preparing something spectacular in honour of the elves leaving us, and I dare say there are quite a few people wishing to converse with you."

"Erm, may we hold off breakfast for a bit, sir?" Harry asked, not particularly fancying being converged on by a hyperactively grateful crowd. "I, I'd like to talk to you."

Gandalf picked up his staff and draped it across his lap. Harry wondered how Middle Earth wizards made staffs, and what sort of wood they used. It was such a random thought, that Harry blinked at himself.

Gandalf hemmed. "I imagine I know what you wish to speak to me about . . . and breakfast can wait, as you said. After all, I doubt it has been made yet. Most of the residents of Helm's Deep are likely still warm from their beds."

Gandalf stared at him with eyes so wise and old that Harry had to look down. He had the not so comfortable feeling of being gently stripped of all emotional barriers, something which he'd only experienced with Dumbledore and Snape, and Voldemort.

Perhaps Gandalf was a Legilemens? It wasn't so odd a notion. "I guess, I guess I wanted to ask about . . . well, do you know why my magic reacted that way to the uruks? The curse I used . . . I mean, they weren't all supposed to die. In fact, none of them were. It's only a pain curse. Admittedly, an Unforgivable one, but the mechanics of it are quite simple."

Gandalf "hmmed" and stared at a spot on the ground. "It is the nature of dark magic to be unpredictable," he said at last, looking at Harry sideways. "Though I suspect that not to be the case for your sort of wizard. But there is another option, Harry, and one which I have been mulling over ever since you saved Helm's Deep. I do not know if anyone has told you of this, but the Orc was not always a race of Middle Earth. In fact, they only started existing in the beginning of the Fourth Age of Stars . . . and I have just remembered that I might have mentioned something to that effect when first we met."

"I'm pretty sure you did," Harry grinned.

"You are cheekier than a Peregrin Took at times, Master Potter," Gandalf humphed, then lit his pipe again. "You know, then, that the orcs have all been twisted, and tortured, and created in a most foul use of the darkest of dark magicks?"

Harry nodded.

"And you also know that because of that, they are an unnatural race. Abominations of nature. Though even calling them natural would be stretching it, but they had to have come from somewhere after all, and in fact they have come from elves."

"It's hard to believe," Harry said quietly.

"Indeed yes, though not for the goblins themselves, which is why I suspect they harbour more resentment for elves than for the other races." Gandalf took a fresh puff. "Now, what you battled here at Helm's Deep was not orc, it was uruk, and uruk was created by Saruman from the orc race."

Harry bit his lip. Gandalf was looking expecting. "I think I might have an idea of what you're trying to say. I mean, my magic's been reacting oddly, or sometimes not at all, when faced with anything magical here . . ."

Gandalf nodded, pleased. "Indeed, most astute of you, and that was exactly what I was going to bring up. Uruk-hai were created by Saruman, but more specifically, they were created by Saruman's magic. Perhaps this common bond of theirs is what caused them all to feel your curse, and respond to it accordingly. It was most beneficial to us and I, for one, could not be happier. I'd wager Saruman had not thought of that when he first began creating the uruk in the bowels of Orthanc.

"I rather doubt he'd predicted my arrival," Harry said.

"No," said Gandalf, eyes shining, "indeed he did not."

xxxx


	18. Hail the Conqueror

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling. The Lord of the Rings belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien. I do not own anything. I am making no profit whatsoever in writing this story. This is an amateur attempt.

A/N: As always, thanks exceedingly for the reviews. As well as taking the time to actually read the thing.

xxxxx

**Chapter Eighteen: Hail the Conqueror.**

Ganadalf continued puffing his pipe as they strolled Helm's Deep.

"I doubt anyone has awoken yet, as you have already mentioned," he had told Harry earlier. "Besides Gamling, perhaps, but I doubt he will be so anxious to raise the king from his sleep. Last night was merry for all, and many a potent drink did fall into thirsty throats and greedy bellies. The king is not the only one whose head is throbbing this morn, I have no doubt.

"So now," he had stood up," let us amble. I need to stretch these old bones and I feel that _you_ should see, at least, some of the good you have brought to the people of Rohan. I wish for you to understand that is it not . . ." he had sighed. "Well, you should not have to feel as if the light in your life has ended, Harry. No darkness resides in you, and I want for you to understand that. It is very important that you do."

"I understand, Gandalf," Harry had said, staring up into the kind blue eyes. "I understand completely now. I might not have understood earlier, but right now . . . right now I do."

Gandalf had stared for a full ten seconds ― again _through_ Harry, as opposed to _at_ Harry, and then he had smiled. "I see that you do indeed. Still, perhaps we should stroll?" he had suggested once more, and Harry had given in. It had been obvious that the wizard had wanted to talk more. Or perhaps he hadn't? Perhaps he had really fancied a stroll?

He hadn't.

". . . hit him over the head. Just like that," Gandalf was saying now. "As any well-meaning person can imagine, he was quite shocked, indeed he very much was. But that is a story for another time." He stopped to look over the Deeping Wall.

Harry followed.

The slight waft of breeze brought with it a smell that was overwhelmingly disgusting, and it made his eyes water. Harry didn't try being discreet and _not_ hold his nose. The smell didn't seem to bother the white wizard, however. "This is what you have wrought, Harry," he said, and gestured majestically at the field of burnt uruk carcasses before them.

"Er," Harry said, and tried not to cough.

"Yes, very much so," Gandalf sighed, as though Harry had said something comprehensive. He leaned on his staff and looked at Harry from under bushy brows. "Indeed, young wizard, surprised am I, that you had not thought to ask me the greatest and most puzzling question of all."

Harry's face must have shown puzzlement on its own, because Gandalf explained.

"I do not doubt you have been puzzling over this yourself. Perhaps consciously, or perhaps not―"

"Wait," Harry interjected, realisation finally dawning. "Sorry, but are you talking about what happened with Saruman's bomb?"

"Bomb?" Gandalf looked thoughtful, then pleased. "Yes, most apt . . . the name, that is. _Bomb_. Hmm. There is a delightful, _pop_, to it . . . it rather sounds like the sound of the thing it represents, does it not? And I have just noticed: _Pop_ also shares the same similarity."

Harry laughed at the wizard's half satisfied half flummoxed expression. "Yes. There's actually a word for that, a really long one, but I'll have to ask Hermione to remind me when I see her."

Gandal hemmed and puffed a little. "In answer to your question, yes, I was speaking of Saruman's _bomb_."

"You're going to enjoy saying that, aren't you?"

Gandalf chuckled.

"Does it work using the same principle, then?" At Gandalf's slight puzzled frown, Harry added, "I mean, does the same, er, _idea_ apply as it did when I cursed the uruk. Saruman's bomb . . . well I assume it was made of a little bit of magic, right? _His_ magic, and when it came in contact with Dumbledore's wards . . ."

Gandalf laughed lightly. "Again, most commendable. I know none here would ever have solved such a puzzle, but that could be because they do not understand magic as you or I. But yes, I suspect it to be because of the different _colours_ of magic, you can say, coming together and cancelling each other out.

"Do you remember," he added, and gestured for Harry to follow him along the path of the wall, "the first time you journeyed back to your home world? Hmm? You assumed I was Saruman. We both cast spells. None of them did what they were supposed to do but merely . . ."

"Bounced back?" Harry offered.

Gandalf nodded. "And do you also remember the holly trees that stood on either side of the entrance of the Hollin Gate? Of Moria, that is. Your magic refused to work then as well."

Gandalf drew a breath, but Harry interrupted. "Actually, I know the reason for that one."

"Oh good, because I do not," said the old wizard. "Not entirely."

Harry blinked.

"I was about to ask you, you see" he said, perfectly reasonably. "I have thought about it, but could receive no conclusion as to why you could not access your magic. Saruman's influence had not been felt in Moria at all. It very much leads one to ponder, as I did."

_Dumbledore should be so confusing_, was Harry's brief thought, before he shook his head. "Right, well, er, you see my wand―" he unpocketed it "―it's made of holly, and the holly trees at the entrance ―"

"Of course!"

Again, Harry blinked.

Gandalf noticed, and smile. "Holly is a very magical wood . . . or tree, depending on how one uses it. And the fact that your wand is made of holly leads me to suspect that it must hold magical properties in your world as well." At Harry's nod, he continued. "Those particular holly trees that stand so beautifully at the cursed West-gate entrance were, in fact, brought by the elves in order to guard Moria's gate; in order to endeavour travellers with a little bit of elvish knowledge. You see, Harry, they represent something very important: the end of elvish territory and the beginning of dwarvish ― which is Moria, of course. It could also be said that they represent something even more important: the Two Trees of Valinor."

"Valinor is the elvish heaven, right?"

"That is correct."

"Then, are you trying to say elvish magic also has an effect on my ―" Harry stopped abruptly as something occurred to him that never had before. "Of course it does," he added softly. "Galadriel could read my mind through my hat. She penetrated through the mind of the greatest Legilemens in my world."

Gandalf arched his brows, looking inquiring. "I am unfamiliar with this word."

Harry looked up. "To explain it very loosely, it means mind-reader."

"And your _hat_ is a mind-reader?" said Gandalf slowly. His eyes travelled from the brim of Harry's black hat to its tip, as though expecting it to strike up a conversation.

"Used to be," Harry mumbled, adjusting his brim, "but not anymore. It, its presence sort of went away."

Gandalf started laughing.

"What's funny?"

"Harry, dear child, no object can be as powerful as that of a living person, no matter how much magic is put into it," said Gandalf, looking kind. "Unless it is a staff or wand, of course, but still they will only work for the will of the caster. You must understand . . . a magical object's power is only sufficient enough to keep within the limits of the magic it holds within itself. If a stronger being comes along, say, a certain White Lady, then . . . and remember that Galadriel is a most powerful being. Compared to a hat ― forgive me, but you must understand how amusing I find this."

"No," Harry said thoughtfully, "I can see why you're laughing. It does sound pretty stupid when put like that." He paused. "I can't believe I hadn't thought of it before."

Gandalf jabbed the end of his stick into the air. "Let us get back to our previous discussion."

"So, about that, was it only because of Galadriel's power that she could read my mind, or because she was an elf, with elf magic, that cancelled out the one on my hat?"

"Judging by the holly trees that stand in front the Moria gate . . . oh, thank you ―" Harry held the antechamber door wide open so the wizard could walk through, as his hands were occupied with his pipe and staff, then shut it again "― I do believe that elvish magic has _some_ sort of effect on your own . . . but I am missing something. Something is niggling at me. Something that I feel as if I have taken note of for a tiny moment, but which has slipped from my thoughts before I could examine it at length."

"What do you mean, sir?"

Gandalf stoked the end of his beard. "I know not, but I am certain it will come to me." Something loud gurgled and Gandalf looked down. "But now it is _really_ time for breakfast. A pipe is not a sufficient enough meal, I am sorry to say."

Harry laughed softly.

xxxx

The antechamber was a room that sat to the right of the great hall. It was used mainly for the storage of food stuffs these days, but long ago it used to be a magnificent bedchamber for very important guests, so that they wouldn't have to go through the inconvenience of walking all the way from their rooms to the great hall. Or so, Gandalf told Harry.

Harry pondered on that as the old wizard took his arm and led him out of the side door. Hermione had been right. With age came knowledge. Gandalf was extremely old and extremely knowledgeable, and had managed to figure out things about Harry's own magic that wouldn't have occurred to him. He also talked in riddles, mainly, and sometimes Harry was forced to think about what was being said before he gave an answer.

It was extremely satisfying.

Which was why Harry was surprised at himself.

He didn't go into problem-solving, usually ― that was Hermione's forte. But after thinking about it he realised that, yes, he did indeed, perhaps without meaning to, do it.

Who had worked out all those puzzles in fourth year when no one else could?

And what about that sphinx?

Harry's problem-solving often came at him in bursts, when he most needed it. Hermione had the sort of brain that made it all easy. All she had to do was read it, and solve it, which was what Gandalf did.

That was why Harry was satisfied.

He needed to think like that. He needed to evaluate everything. Look at everything from all angles.

That was what Voldemort did.

Gandalf, whether he knew it or not, was teaching Harry.

". . . and so I want to start as soon as I can," Harry told him now as they walked into the Great Hall.

"I never knew for it to be possible to turn into an animal," Gandalf mused. "Unless you are Beorn, of course. Ah, he is a skin-changer and can turn into a bear," he added at Harry's inquiring look. "But I shall help you in any way I can, if you need it."

Harry stared. He hadn't expected this. "That'd be, that'd be fantastic, sir! And you needn't worry about any conflicting magic. See, it's not really so much magic, as focus. Well, obviously there's _some_ magic involved, but _you_ won't have to do anything . . . But it's still mostly focus. I need to concentrate a lot to become an Animagus. Usually it takes years of study and research, but I can't afford years."

"You will find, Harry," said Gandalf, "that you are not the only one who cannot afford that."

Harry knew he meant the current war with Saruon.

The great hall was littered here and there with sleepy people. Usually at this time of morning everyone was already awake planting crops and baking bread and other stuff, but last night had been an impromptu celebration whereby the king started drinking and everyone followed his example.

Or, so Gandalf had explained.

But Harry expected no one would want to go out and plant fields now; not after such a big battle like that.

A young woman just about to lay out a plateful of round cheese was the first to spot them.

She dropped the cheese.

People reacted to the noise, saw her face, and looked to where she was staring.

"Is that . . .?"

". . . Gandalf stands with him . . ."

As one, they walked, then rushed, to Harry's side.

Harry's arm was clapped then dropped, then clapped again.

". . . feat, Master Harry . . ."

". . . cannot say, but . . ."

". . . my husband had not told me, I would not have believed it . . ."

". . . my boy, Eorling. Master Gimli told me you had saved him . . ."

A wave of intense déjà vu hit Harry.

He hadn't felt like this since his first time stepping into The Leaky Cauldron.

"Now do not become bashful, Harry," Gandalf whispered into his ear. "They are genuinely grateful, if still a little dru―er . . . _enthused_. That is a wizard's work. _I_ rescue people all the time. Think you _I_ retreat to the shadow's like a, a, Wormtongue?"

Harry _burst_ out laughing. He didn't know what a worm tongue was, but it sounded too ridiculous to be allowed.

Harry didn't see it because he was too busy holding onto his stomach, but everyone paused at this. A very strange sight it was to them to see two such respected beings, one in white the other completely in black, chuckling and laughing as if they were _normal_ people.

This time, when the people moved forward, Harry accepted their thanks gratefully. Something else Gandalf was teaching him. Were he at home, he'd become angry, or run to the nearest fireplace if he could and floo out to avoid the stares, the handshakes, the pointed exclamations . . . no, he needed to deal with this. With his fame.

Harry couldn't expect to hide forever, could he?

"That was most becoming of you," Gandalf told him once all the people had dispersed to their various chores. "Now they will speak that you are noble as well as brave."

Harry pinkened.

There were _some_ things he still needed to work on.

"HO!" came a gruff voice and Harry started and whirled.

Standing just behind them on the threshold, in all his coarse finery, was Gimli.

Harry thought, then said, "Er, ho?"

The dwarf chuckled mightily, ran forward, then embraced Harry, thumping him so hard on the back that breath left his body in a painful whoosh.

"Good to see you too, Gimli."

"Of course, I knew very well you would return!" the dwarf boasted loudly, holding Harry by the arm. "There were some who doubted. The elf, mainly, yet―"

"Pardon me," said a gentle voice from the threshold. "I never doubted. I even recall telling you yester eve that ―"

"_Pah!_ Do you forget that yester eve we were all a might deep into the cups, my good elf? If I forget to remember something, blame it on that. And I have forgotten to remember whatever it is you had told me."

"Convenient," said the blonde, but he was grinning.

Harry smiled. "Good to see you, Legolas."

Legolas clapped him on the shoulder, eyes shining. "And you. My heart sings that you have returned to us unharmed."

"Did I not tell you that would be so?" Gandalf chose to say at that moment. He had started a new pipe and his head looked like a malfunctioning chimney. Harry couldn't be sure, but he even thought the old wizard had smoke coming out of his ears.

It wasn't the first time Harry thought he should point out that smoking wasn't really healthy, and it wasn't the first time that he remembered Gandalf couldn't die. At least not by usual means.

"I thought you were planning on eating, Gandalf?"

Gandalf blinked and stared down at the pipe in his mouth. "Oh . . . habit," he mumbled, before extinguishing the pipe and placing it in his robe pocket.

"Where are the others?" Harry asked as they walked to the tables. Already, people were eating; the ones that had greeted Harry, but also a couple of new people. Boys and girls around Harry's age. They stared, and nudged, and avoided his eyes, but didn't try to bother him.

For once, Harry was thankful of how suspicious these people could be, and how they regarded anything they didn't understand with either awe or fear.

"Still abed!" Gimli snorted. "Cannot hold their ale!"

Gandalf sighed. "It is more than that, Gimli. Did you happen to forget that Aragorn is still injured? Eru," the wizard grumbled, "he fell off a cliff into ravaging waters not two days ago! On top of that he fought in the greatest battle against the worsest of odds, which would have turned even more wretched had Harry not been there. And I have just remembered ― Harry."

Harry, who'd been about to take a seat beside Legolas, froze in mid-squat. "Yes?"

Gandalf looked at him with gentle eyes. "You have magic that can heal almost instantaneously. Would you be so kind as to look over the wounded for us? Perhaps your magic can help in ways our methods cannot."

Harry didn't try to protest, not that he wanted to. Of course he would help. He told Gandalf so. "Besides, Mrs Weasley's custard tart has yet to go down, so I'm not really hungry anyway."

Gandalf nodded as though he had expected nothing less. "Splendid. I shall steal a piece of bread and some cheese and we'll be off . . . and perhaps some mutton as well. And a drink if my good dwarvish friend would be so kind."

Gimli grumbled but went to fetch the wizard a goblet of something from the barrels along the far wall, which he came back with a minute later. The goblet, not the barrels.

He and Legolas elected to come as well, for they would not miss the opportunity to see Harry's magic at work.

When Harry pointed out their lack of breakfast, they dismissed it. "We are used to it now," Legolas told him. "Months of being on the road with nothing more to eat but that which we hunted ourselves . . . and in certain parts the game was scarce. Well, you know how it was, Harry. Moreover, elven bodies are better at coping without food than the other races."

"Not to mention," Gimli added, "I am not especially hungry now―"

"No doubt," Gandalf interrupted before Gimli could continue, "because your belly is still full of that evil drink from last night. And I also do not doubt that your head must feel as if Helm Hammerhand's horn is blowing in it . . . and you should know all about that, my good dwarf."

Gimli sputtered, but could not dispute fact.

They met Boromir in the first room they stopped at. He'd been over-looking a small group of men whose injuries were serious, but not life-threateningly so. The wives and families of the men sat beside them, looking anxious.

"It does my heart good to see you," he told Harry when he saw him.

Harry accepted the clap on his shoulder with one of his own. To think, if Harry hadn't ever come to Middle Earth, Boromir would have . . . "And you."

"Harry has come to offer his healing magic," Gandalf explained, "as an extra aid."

The Gondorian's eyes lit up. "That is good news indeed, for I know he has come to offer much! I would not be here now, had it not been for Harry's magic."

This was heard throughout the whole room, and Harry didn't know it, but it brought hope to the hearts of those who were wounded, and their families.

"I'm not really an expert," Harry began (an understatement), "but if you can point me to the worst injuries . . ."

Eventually, Harry was kneeling next to the pallet of a man who already looked dead. He was so white and pale, that Harry was positive ― until he saw the slight chest movement.

"W-what, what exactly is wrong with him?"

Gandalf leaned down beside him. "His injury was not that great, at first. A simple wound to the shoulder, but the infection has spread. Orc poison. This man's wound is the worst here. We thought he would live, but the poison has spread. The elves, of course, have been a wondrous help, but even their cleansing magic cannot cure him now. We were too late . . . we give him now to you. If you cannot help him, he will not last the day."

Earlier, Harry probably would have panicked at being given someone's life into his keeping, but oddly, he was now almost . . . calm. Accepting. Looking at the woman on the other side of the prone body, so hopeful . . . Harry couldn't afford to panic. He didn't want to. He gave her a small smile of assurance, and felt a little better at noting that she seemed less tense.

"All right, just . . . let me think for a bit."

If only he had a vial of Phoenix tears, or a bezoar.

How would Madam Pomfrey do it?

_She'd have her potions, wouldn't she? But I don't have many potions with me, at least not ones that'll help in this situation. And the spell I used on Boromir won't help now, either, except to close the wound. _

_Close the wound? No, it has to remain open._

Harry sat up.

Why did it have to remain open?

_So the poison can come out._

How can the poison come out, then?

. . . this was where his mind drew a blank. It wasn't as if Harry could _summon_ the poison out, like he'd summoned Boromir's arrows ― he blinked. "That's it!"

Gimli started. "What!"

He whipped around. "Someone fetch me a goblet."

Gandalf thrust his own under Harry's nose. "It is half full of mead still," he said.

Harry shook his head. "Doesn't matter." He took hold of the goblet while everyone crowded around.

Harry didn't notice. He was too busy concentrating.

He placed the tip of his wand at the wound's entrance. "Accio poison," he said softly, but strongly.

Almost at once black ooze appeared at his wand's tip. Harry slowly, carefully, lifted it away from the wound. As he lifted, the poison stretched so that it now looked like a string of thick, black, melted tar.

"Eru . . ." someone breathed.

Harry directed the poison into the cup, where it sloshed gently, mixing with the amber mead. Over the course of the next ten minutes he coaxed more poison forward, ending with it plopping into the cup. By the time all the poison had been extracted, the cup was almost overflowing.

He gave it to Gandalf.

The wizard raised caterpillar eyebrows as he looked into the goblet. "I do not believe I shall finish this."

The subsequent laughter broke the awkward silence. Harry was clapped on the back at least a dozen times, and thanked over and over again by the man's relieved family.

Harry, however ― as he stared at his now almost healed, fully breathing patient ― blinked at himself.

He . . . _he_ had done that. Had saved somebody's life by being creative. He couldn't believe that it had actually worked.

_Don't be stupid! _he thought suddenly. _I'm_ _probably not the first to have used this method, and it probably would have been painful had the man been awake._

Who knew, perhaps that was the usual method for extracting poison? Perhaps Madam Pomfrey used it herself?

As the thought intruded, he felt ― though he tried not to ― a little prouder with himself. He had worked something out without the help of books. Without the help of anyone but himself.

He had trusted in his own magic, and the feeling overwhelmed him.

Over the course of the next couple of hours Harry found himself, for the first bewildering time in his life, playing nursemaid, healer, doctor, friend, and saviour to a bunch of men and elves. One particular elf, Thalion, who Harry had very briefly met before, had three pieces of bone missing from his forearm, courtesy of three uruk arrows that had shot clean through. This was usually a crippling wound, as the recipient would not be able to retain the use of that arm, or hand; especially as said recipient was a soldier, which made it doubly worse. No more lifting of swords or notching of bows. No more battles. The most strenuous work he could hope for now would be to weed the palace gardens.

That is, until, Harry offered him some skelegrow which, on Hermion's urging, he'd filched from Snape's cupboard the last time he'd tried to visit Dumbledore.

"Regrowing bones . . . it's horrible," Harry told the elf bluntly, upon being asked. "There's this kind of tingling, itching pain in the place where the bones start growing back ― sort of like ants biting you on the inside ― and you won't be able to sleep because of it."

"You have personally . . .?"

"I had to regrow all the bones in my arm once. But that was a lot worse than your injury, so I'm sure it won't hurt as much."

Though Harry suspected that Thalion wasn't as much afraid of it hurting (he was a warrior after all) as how foreign and mysterious all this wizard healing was.

Thalion, looking a little pinched, glanced at his injured forearm, then at Harry.

He nodded encouragingly.

Sighing, the black-haired elf tipped the quarter-full goblet of Skelegrow back ― and just as quickly spat it out.

Gandalf, who'd been observing patiently with a fresh pipe in hand at the foot of the pallet, was forced to jump out of his seat and scuttle comically to the side.

"Ai, it is as foul as orc blood!"

"You have tasted orc blood, have you, Master Thalion!" Gandalf snapped, embarrassed now that the drama was over. His pipe had somehow ended up hooked over the pointed tip on his hat, but still continued to smoke faintly.

Thalion glared at both wizards. "Nay, but I like it not all the same."

"You have to drink it," Harry urged, pouring another round of skelegrow into the goblet. He ignored the stubborn frown directed his way, and thrust it back at the elf. "Or do you want to spend eternity ripping out weeds?"

Although that last remark got Harry a strange look, Thalion accepted the goblet.

"Try holding your nose," Harry suggested.

Another strange look came his way, but Thalion took Harry's advice and ― "Ai! The _stink_ in it has not diminished. What potion _is_ this? Not even my lord Elrond has any as foul in his healer's cabinet."

"It's called skelegrow."

"You have mentioned that," he grimaced. "And it will cure my leg as well?"

Harry glanced down at Thalion's leg, mostly because he wanted to avoid the elf's hopeful gaze. "No. It won't," he told him quietly. "It doesn't work on broken bones, only on missing bones. Look, Aragorn and the king's nephew ―"

"Eomer," Gandalf supplied.

"Right, thanks. They told me that you'll have full use of your leg in time, so it'll be all right. I'm not a real wizard healer, I just know a few spells and I've brought along a few potions, just in case . . . If I were a real healer I could probably fix your leg in seconds, but I don't know how."

Thalion had those eyes that noticed everything, as all elves' did, and they searched Harry's own. Harry fought not to look down.

"I see now," he said gently. "If I have given the impression that I am not grateful, Harry Potter, forgive me. You have done more than enough. Because of you I shall have full use of my arm by cock's crow on the morrow."

Harry thought it might be a bit sooner, but didn't bother to tell Thalion. He may be wrong after all. "Aren't you going to be, er, on the road tomorrow? With the other elves?"

Thalion nodded, looking pleased. "We shall be a league away. We leave this noon."

"Should you be travelling with a broken leg? Not to mention your arm. And what about the other injured elves ― what?"

Thalion was laughing. "And you say you are not a healer? You certainly cluck like one."

Harry stared incredulously ― and thought of Madam Pomfrey and her mother-hen like nature when faced with even the smallest injury that needed mending. And to be told by this elf, who he'd only just met, that he might have gotten a little too much into the spirit of things . . . "No! I'm just an ordinary wizard. I just know magic. I don't know anything about healing."

"There are some here who would disagree," Thalion said simply.

Harry merely packed away the skelegrow and ignored his hot cheeks as best he could.

Gandalf smiled quietly from his new position by the wall.

xxxxxx

The feast that the citizens of Rohan had prepared for the elves' departure was not magnificent. There wasn't much to work with after all, seeing as most of the really good food/crops had been burnt along with the wild men pillages. But still, no one minded.

Harry sat between Aragorn and Haldir. It wasn't an especially comfortable position, as the man and elf ― who were very good friends ― were forced to talk over the top of his head, or else swivel to exchange words behind his back every time Harry reached for his goblet.

Their conversation wasn't interesting, either . . . something about Elrond, who Harry knew was the elf ruler over at Rivendell. They also talked of Elrohir and Elladan ― names Harry had never heard up until now.

". . . could not journey," Haldir was saying as he forked a couple of potatoes into his mouth. He used his left hand, because his right was bandaged.

Aragorn nodded. "Yes, they are likely still hunting orcs with the rangers. The wilds are not known to be forgiving. They shall loose themselves in there ― purposefully, I do not doubt. But they will have the gall to feel cheated upon returning home and finding out that Lord Elrond has sent his elves here without their services as compliment."

Haldir laughed. "No doubt. The sons of Elrond are not known for their patience. But they are good friends."

"They are even better brothers."

"Why? Because they do not tease you as they are prone to teasing others?"

"Nay, I am doomed to share that fate as everyone else is, perhaps even more so because of that very reason. They did raise me. They are more like mothers than brothers, to tell true."

Both males laughed.

Harry was surprised. He hadn't known Aragorn had brothers. They had to have been _really_ old if they'd raised Aragorn. Then he remembered . . . Haldir had said something about the sons of Elrond.

Did that mean, then, that Aragorn had been raised by elves?

_Of course it does, idiot!_

Harry let their conversation flow over him, and allowed his gaze to travel over the assembled group in front.

Everyone could fit into the hall . . . just.

Elves and men conversed freely. Wine flowed. More wine than was possible. Harry, newly turned sixteen, permitted himself a goblet of the same mead Gandalf had been toting earlier, and was surprised to note that it wasn't that bad ― if you ignored the slightly sweet, spicy, cinnamon taste.

People stared.

They couldn't help but stare, Harry knew, and he mentally gave himself a pat on the back for not reacting to it.

But he would meet their eyes occasionally ― accidentally ― and it was _they_ who looked away first. Especially the boys.

For some reason they were intimidated by him.

Harry knew what they thought, what everyone thought. That he was immortal. He looked young, younger than the present elves, but he would supposedly live forever. _That_ was what they found so odd. He found this slightly bewildering himself. He knew they thought he was immortal because he was a wizard ― but he had told the Fellowship he wasn't. But Harry allowed that Gandalf might not know because he'd been, well, _dead_, at the time Harry had told the others.

Still, perhaps he should tell Gandalf and get him to spread the word around.

The elves were waved off about mid-afternoon, after their honorary feast. The wounded were carried in old carts pulled by some of the best of Rohan horses ― a sort of thank you from the king.

Gandalf strolled over to Harry's side as the last of the elves passed through the main gate.

"I think you have impressed him," he murmured.

Harry stared. "Who?"

"Why, the elf Haldir, of course," said Gandalf, as if Harry should have known.

"Oh."

He supposed, now he thought back on it, that Haldir _had_ been impressed. Especially when he'd gone to visit his injured soldiers and found most of them already up and healed.

The two wizards left, then, and made their way to the hall once more. "You know, Gandalf," said Harry, sitting down on a seat by the table, "everyone thinks I'm immortal. Why did you?"

Gandalf had leaned his staff against the bench and was just about to sit down beside Harry, when he stopped. "You mean to tell me that you are not?"

Harry nodded. Slowly.

Gandalf's enormous eyebrows rose. Then he sat hard on the bench, looking incredulous. "My senses have never failed me before, Harry. Even now, I can sense that you are older than you appear."

His stomach clenched nervously as a horrid thought intruded. Was something happening to him as he wandered between . . . no, that was stupid. "What d'you mean?"

"I mean," said Gandalf, patting his robe pocket, "that you seem to be of three hundred years, to me."

"I'm not," said Harry quickly. "But . . . could the fact that you think that have something to do with how my people can live up to three hundred years if they have enough magic?"

Gandalf frowned, and shook his head, "No, no, that should not matter. Nor should it matter how much magic you have. I sense specifically, in you, that you are three hundred winters. It is as if you have lived long years."

"Well if I have I don't remember," Harry joked.

Gandalf eventually extracted a pipe from out of his left boot, and stuck it into his mouth. He sighed. "Another thing to think about, then. Only you and hobbits can cause me so many problems."

They looked at each other, then chuckled. "I have to agree with you there. I'm not one for staying in the background, as much as I try."

"Well that's enough of that," Gandalf said, flapping the hand that didn't hold a pipe. "Tomorrow morning we set out for Isenguard, and you shall come with us, Harry. I should very much like to see Saruman's face when he sees you and _knows _you were the one who destroyed most of his uruk."

"You don't think he might try to kill me?"

"Oh, yes," said Gandalf, sounding as if Harry had asked him whether they were having chocolate cake for dinner. "You have destroyed his swarming hoard, and you have also wounded his pride. But," he patted Harry's hand, "you need not fret overmuch. I will be there, of course, and the others. And do not forget, Harry, that he will also be very terrified of your power. He fears it for he does not understand it."

Harry had never thought of himself as powerful ― stupid maybe, and lucky ― but never powerful.

People started wondering into the hall again, now that the elves had left. It was time to finish packing for the journey back. Harry and Gandalf watched from their position next to the farthest table as groups of people began clearing up the scraps of food, benches, barrels, and other stuff.

Aragorn, Boromir, Legolas, Gimil and Eomer entered the hall, spotted them, and made to walk towards them. Gandalf waved them back with his staff.

Harry turned to look at the old wizard, puzzled. "What is it?"

He smiled kindly. "I thought you might like to discuss things in private. They are our friends, yes, but sometimes wizardly matters are best left to wizards. Now, let us leave all this sad business of Saruman until such times comes when we must retrieve it again. Tell me of this book."

Harry blinked for a moment, wondering what one earth . . . then he remembered. Reaching into his shoulder bag he extracted the thin animagus book and handed it to Gandalf.

The wizard stared for a moment at the moving figure on the front, but made no comment. He opened it, and flipped. "Most unusual," he hummed. He placed it back in Harry's hand. "I cannot understand a word. You shall have to read it to me."

Harry grinned. "All right." He flipped to the first page. "_The first step a wizard must adhere to when attempting the animgaus transformation is to concentrate, otherwise_. . . ."

Half an hour later almost all of the tables, barrels, and benches were packed away ― except theirs ― and Harry had finished reading the first two chapters to Gandalf.

He closed the book, and looked at his companion. The white wizard sat, hands on knees, staring thoughtfully at nothing. "So basically, I have to find my inner animal before attempting to bring it out."

"That is the simple part," Gandalf agreed.

"Yes. But I won't do it now." Harry placed the book back into his bag. "I'm too tired to concentrate."

"Harry, have you ever thought of not thinking?"

Harry frowned. What Gandalf had just said sounded a lot like occlumency. "Yes, I have." The old wizard raised his brows. "That is, I tried," Harry amended, looking up at the withered face before him. "It didn't work. I'm not . . . skilled enough."

"Hmm," Gandalf said. "Not skilled enough, you say?"

Harry nodded, twined his fingers together. "I'm not very good at some things; some wizardry things. Especially transfiguration, which is where we transform things into other things. But I'm told my dad was very good at that." He looked at his feet. "I'm not that great at charms, either, not like Hermione. But what I'm absolutely horrible at is occlumency." Seeing Gandalf's inquiring look, he explained: "That's a form of magic to stop people from reading your thoughts."

"Ah," Gandalf said, narrowing his eyes," but I did not ask whether you have ever tried to stop people from reading your thoughts, I asked if you have tried not thinking."

"Well I tried clearing my mind a few times ― but that's not the same, is it?"

"No. It is not."

"Then no, I haven't tried not thinking."

Gandalf stood up. "Try it."

Harry stared. "What? Now? _Here_?"

The wizard nodded.

"In front of all these distractions?" He gestured to the commotion of people behind Gandalf.

Gandalf didn't bother sparing a glance. "The more there is to distract you, the better it will be for you in the end."

Harry raked his hair, sighed, and stood up. Looked Gandalf in the eye. "It's not possible. No one can _not_ think."

"What nonsense, Master Potter, I do it all the time," Gandalf grumbled, and patted his pocket.

Harry reached behind him, lifted the pipe Gandalf had placed on the earlier, then handed it to the wizard.

"Thank you."

"What do you mean you do it all the time?" Harry asked, following Gandalf, who had begun to walk away. "D'you mean whenever?"

"Certainly. But when I wish to not think, then I do not think."

"But ―"

"What is your first step?" Gandalf interjected. They had just stopped by the entrance door. "What must you do as your first step to becoming an animal?"

"Concentrate," Harry answered promptly.

"Exactly," said Gandalf. "And what must you do in order to cease thinking?"

"Er, concentrate?" Harry tried.

Gandalf smiled and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Get to work."

"I'm sure none of the wizards in my world ever had to do this," Harry said. "I'm not sure they even know _how_ to not think.

"Ah, but you said it yourself. Those wizards who have attempted this transformation were very good at _trans-figuring_ things already. You are not. Therefore, it stands to reason that it will be more difficult for you, and that you should learn as many new ― skills, shall we say ― in order to help yourself. Promise me something, Harry. That you shall always try. All the time, no matter what is happening around you."

Harry stared into the wizard's crinkled blue eyes, and thought. He knew if he answered in the positive he would be setting himself an impossible task. No, not impossible. Merely improbable, according to Gandalf. At that thought, he reluctantly gave in. "All right, sir. I promise."

The wizard left him now with a smile of encouragement and a clap to the shoulder, and strolled off down the corridor.

Harry stood, thinking ― _no, don't think! _His fists clenched so hard the knuckles became white._ But how could I not! I have to think. If I don't think, I don't live. _Wasn't that how it worked? _But Gandalf can do it. He does it all the time. If Gandalf does it, I can do it . . . _Harry blinked.How _does_ he do it?"What do you do, Gandalf?" Harry blurted out.

A few people turned in response to his shout but Harry didn't notice, too busy watching the white figure at the end of the corridor. It stopped now, looked back, and smiled. "Why, I sleep, of course."

xxxx

A/N: Bomb, of course, is an onomatopoeic word. As is pop.


	19. To Isengard We Go

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling. The Lord of the Rings belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien. I do not own anything. I am making no profit whatsoever in writing this story. This is an amateur attempt.

A/N: At last, this story has cometh back! Trust me, I think I'm about as frustrated as you lot are with how long it's taken this chapter to come out! I don't really know what else to say besides sorry at how long I took to update this. I had a lot of fun writing this chapter, I missed getting involved with this story.

Hope you enjoy.

xxxxxx

**Chapter Nineteen: To Isengard We Go**

The battle seemed endless now, Harry's sword getting heavier to wield with each blow that he struck, and the enemy's coming so fast that there seemed no pauses between the strikes and the parries, just the constant sounds of the battle that pierced his eardrums and distracted him horribly.

The thuggish creature before him raised an arm, sword held aloft and gleaming dully in the sun. Harry dimly noted the brown flecks upon the metal and knew with a kind of horrified instinct just what they were.

He braced his sword in the defensive position and –

"You gotta sweety?" said the orc.

"_What?"_

". . . to the _privy_, if you need it lad. Tis almost past the time when we should be going!"

Harry lay on his pallet, blinking groggily up into the early morning darkness. He had enough sense to register the swoosh of Gimli's departing red beard, the dull clinks of his armour, and the light bustle of the great hall as people went about their morning preparations. He let his head fall back down with a thump.

It hadn't worked then.

Not that he had expected it to this first time, but he still could not help but be slightly disappointed. Gandalf's last words buzzed around in his head, distracting him even more than they ought to, especially since he, Harry, was not supposed to be thinking about anything at all. He had never realised just how hard not thinking was until Gandalf had told him to try and do it.

"_Why, I sleep, of course."_

Fat lot of good that had done him. Though he was certainly going to try again soon.

Beside him, Boromir smiled down at Harry through drooping hair as he rolled up his pallet.

"The dwarf speaks true," he said, swinging his shield onto his back, "Gandalf is getting impatient I think, Harry. Seldom have we seen him so full of bluster and . . . best not to finish that sentence, I think. He is getting a might irate of late. If he were to hear me . . . Wizards!" he added, as though that one word described everything, then wound strong fingers about Harry's arm and tugged him up. "You are still half asleep, young one."

"I had a strange dream," Harry offered in explanation.

Boromir chuckled. "And I think you are still in it!" He tapped the side of Harry's head, and then handed him a piece of dried mutton. "It must have been very important, what you and Gandalf talked about, if it is still affecting you so. You even went to sleep early."

"Er, yeah."

"Eat up." Boromir nodded to the meat in Harry's hand. "We have not the time to break bread the right way this morn. That meat shall have to last you until late afternoon."

For a second Harry wished he hadn't sent his delicious sack to Mordor with Hedwig, then flushed at the guilty thought. He missed his owl desperately, but it comforted him to know that she was still looking after Frodo and Sam like he had asked her to.

Yesterday afternoon, after Harry's talk with Gandalf, Aragorn and Legolas had told him that Hedwig had actually left the two hobbits and gone completely batty when she had not been able to find Harry with the rest of the Fellowship. It seemed she had somehow sensed when Harry had left Middle Earth that first time. Harry found this strange, as she had never shown such tendencies before. It was almost – magical – in nature.

_Maybe Middle Earth is effecting Hedwig, just like it's effecting me?_

It wasn't so odd a thought. Hedwig didn't belong to this world after all. He wondered, though, if she had sensed when Harry had left the second time, and now he kept on looking out conveniently placed windows and expecting her to show up, but the sky was still Hedwig-free.

He supposed he shouldn't have been expectant, really. After all, he had told her to stay with the hobbits. She would not betray that unless for a very good reason, and apparently the only good reason constituted Harry almost getting blown up by a wizard's spell, thrown fifty-feet, breaking some bones, and unwittingly travelling across dimensions.

_Barmy old Hedwig_, he thought affectionately.

He bit now into the mutton, expecting for one bizarre second the taste of lollies, and not realising that his face had twisted at the feel of the dry, tasteless meat.

"Tis all we have now, what with the provisions being burnt with the orc pillages," Boromir explained patiently, having seen the expression.

"No–no," Harry was quick to assure. "It's fine. Just needs a little salt, is all."

"I dare say! I have an errand to run now, but I shall meet you in front of the gate. Best hurry. You do not want to keep the king waiting. Or Gandalf." He grimaced, though Harry wasn't sure which of the two had inspired that reaction.

But he somehow suspected Boromir's "errand" was to make use of the same privy Gimli had mentioned earlier. "Right, thanks."

After Boromir had left Harry quickly stepped into his trainers and stuffed his hat on, ignoring the pretending-not-to-be-curious blonde people walking in front. He shrugged one hand into the sleeve of his cloak, remembering just in time to grab his wand, before stuffing the rest of the meat into his mouth and sprinting off. He put the cloak on properly once he was safely out of the hall.

He ran down past what he thought had to be the back entrance to a scullery, side-stepping an elderly man loading up sacks of damp vegetables into an old cart, and — he was brought to an abrupt stop.

A couple of teenage boys — no older than Ginny, really — had been lurking behind a nearby corner, and they jumped now that Harry had spotted them, jaws dropping guiltily.

"M-my Lord," one of them stuttered, and Harry's own mouth opened in surprise.

They stood staring at each other for a full ten seconds of equally wide-eyed silence. "Erm, you can be on your way now," Harry tried. (He may as well pretend at the part since they believed it of him). "That is, if you want."

They didn't waste a second, hurtling up the same incline Harry had just come down (though they rather forgot to bypass the old man, who began cursing them once his cart had toppled over) and Harry was left with the uncomfortable feeling that he had just been spied on. And not very well, too.

Shrugging off the urge to be irritated, Harry made his way down to the main gate. He could see that it was open now and everyone that was supposed to be there was there including the King and Éomer, his nephew, sitting upon horses and looking like they had been ready to depart ages ago — besides Gandalf. Harry thought this odd, seeing as how Gandalf was the one who had urged everyone to hurry, but he was thankful to be spared of any of the wizard's ire.

"What's that?" Harry asked.

Aragorn had just sidled up beside him and handed over the reins to a frightful looking brown horse. He was also frowning. "Do not jest, Harry."

Ice plummeted into Harry's stomach and settled there to frost. _I'm not actually expected to ride that thing, am I? _In all the excitement of coming back to Middle Earth, he hadn't given a thought as to how he would get from place to place — which was stupid, because the only transport just happened to be horses. Conveniently enough.

"I-I mean, I know it's a horse. Of course I know it's a horse. I just don't know how to ride one. Erm, but it's alright," he added, hope blooming at the thought of how he might fix the situation. "I'm sure it isn't any harder than riding a hippogriff. Or a broomstick."

"That, I have to agree with," Legolas said, nudging his horse to stand beside Aragorn's. "Although I cannot begin to guess what you meant by 'Hipo-griff', and I can only assume it is some sort of animal. In any case riding a steed is not so difficult —"

"I beg to differ!" Gimli interjected from behind the elf.

Harry grinned, but Aragorn still looked slightly worried. "It'll be fine. I'll be fine. The only thing I'm worried about now is how I'm supposed to get o — _whoa!_"

Somebody grasped his arms, lifted him off of the ground and deposited him on his horse's back. "Boromir!" he greeted as he whipped around to look at the perpetrator. "Thanks."

The brown-haired man smiled in return.

"So," Harry began as he adjusted his seat, "where's Gandalf? Only I thought he'd be here by now seeing as he was the one who'd urged everyone to hurry."

"If Master Potter had not asked that, then I would have, Aragorn." The king's horse shifted a bit; the only sign that Théoden was irritated. "Where _is_ Gandalf?"

"Here! I am here, no need to fuss on my account." Gandalf and Shadowfax suddenly appeared from out of the gate. "And my doings are my own business. Although, if you must know — inquisitive beings that you are — I was merely helping a poor woman with some last minute packing. Shall we be off?"

He didn't wait for confirmation, merely urging Shadowfax on. It was only as Harry's eyes followed Gandalf's progress that he noticed the enormous forest on the other side of the valley, stretching the full width, and he felt his jaw dropping for a second time that day.

_When the bloody heck had _that_ shown up?_ Harry was quite positive it had never been there before, yet clearly it stood there now. He would have remembered seeing a forest, surely. Even yesterday, when he and Gandalf had walked along the Deeping Wall. But, but — _there _had_ been a lot of smoke from the burnt uruk bodies,_ he had to allow. _It would have made a nice cover, wouldn't it?_

Harry supposed so.

xxxxx

"Have you thought any of what we had discussed?"

This quiet remark brought Harry out of his stupor. Gandalf had sidled up to trot next to him, his white robes blinding in the mid-morning sun. "A little," Harry murmured, his face heating at the lie. The truth was, Harry had spent the whole night thinking about trying not to think about anything. So in truth, he had thought about it. Just not the right _it_.

"Hmmm." Gandalf said, eyeing him sideways. "Perhaps I should have said: have you _not_ thought any of what we had discussed?"

Harry was very conscious of his drooping jaw. He snapped it shut. "Erm, in that case, the answer would be a definite yes."

Gandalf chuckled. "Have you not made any progress, then?"

"No, sir."

"That is only to be supposed . . . do not look at me so, Harry. I did not expect you to be able to do it over night. Indeed, it may take many nights — and many days — for you to even come close —"

"I realise that," Harry interrupted, more sharply than he had intended. "Sorry, it's just that I understand, I mean —" he sighed. "It's been a very long night, Gandalf."

"I imagine so," was what Gandalf said, tone forever kind and patient. "Do not worry, Harry. It will come to you, before you need it."

They plodded along for a little bit, now bypassing the piles of burnt uruk carcasses. Boromir leaned over then, and explained that there had simply been too many dead uruk-hai for all of them to be burnt and that the Rohirrim had, in fact, not set fire to the whole lot because by the time yesterday morning had arrived half the dead orcs were missing. And also by that time the forest had magically grown. Everyone had come to the same conclusion: the orcs had somehow ended up in the forest, and were now perhaps mangled up and turned into floor litter. Legolas said something about walking trees at that point, but Harry could not work out what he meant.

The wood was dark and damp and _Fangornish, _and by the time the Company finally entered it, also growling. Oddly enough. His horse's — "He is named Hammrod," Éomer had told him — reins were difficult to manoeuvre now in a way they hadn't been on the journey in the valley from Helm's Deep. Harry had a bit of trouble picking around the dense foliage, upthrust roots, and outstretched branches. And when he finally got the hang of it he was smacked in the face from a bunch of overhanging leaves, prompting lots of good-natured sniggering, especially from behind Legolas.

"I must say, Harry, that you have taken to horses as a fish does to water. Mayhap you used a little - ah - help?" Gandalf leaned sideways a little and nudged him gently.

At first Harry thought Gandalf was taking the Mickey out of him, but then realised the wizard was being serious. "How did you —? Never mind. But yeah," Harry patted Hammrod's neck. "I used a cushioning charm on the saddle. I can't feel a thing."

Gandalf laughed heartily, inducing looks from the Company. "Well done, Harry!"

"But how did _you_ know, sir?"

"My magic has grown somewhat since last we met, Harry. I sense certain things better then others and in fact, for some reason that I cannot yet ascertain, I have been able to sense your magic, even though I am indifferent to it. I knew when your Head Master and the _Forks Fe-niks_ arrived in Arda — the world became, for a moment, confused and garbled. That is why I am certain that Saruman knows now about you. He likely sensed you — or at least sensed your Dumbledore and, assuming it was you, sent the crebain."

_So it's _my_ fault that the crebain came to Helm's Deep, _thought Harry, stomach sinking.

"Stop that!" said Gandalf sharply, and Harry was taken aback. "Your thoughts are written on your face so loudly even the most incompetent orc could read them. Think you it would have made a difference in the end?" He didn't wait for Harry to answer. "No, for you destroyed the uruk anyway; and very mightily might I add. Saruman is wise to fear you."

"Yeah," Harry said. _But I don't _want_ anyone to fear me, let alone a dangerous dark wizard who's likely to act on that fear by way of exacting revenge._

"But then," Gandalf added, and stroked Shadowfax's long mane, "you would be wise to fear Saruman. He is most volatile at the moment, especially now that his power has weakened considerably."

Harry frowned. "What are you talking about?" How would Gandalf know that? _Unless – unless he can sense that Saruman doesn't have a lot of magic left? _That was probably it. "But why would I fear him, Gandalf? I thought his magic couldn't hurt me either way."

"I had failed to remember for a moment," Gandalf blinked, creasing his enormous eyebrows together. "Forgive me for causing you unnecessary stress, Harry."

"You didn't really," Harry shrugged. "It's not like I forgot what we talked about yesterday." Then added, slyly, "but I think all those pipes of yours are making you a bit slow-witted."

Gandalf blinked again, this time in shock, just as Gimli let out a great, "Ha-ha! Well done, Master Potter! Top _that_ if you can white wizard!"

The white wizard in question grumbled under his breath and sent looks to both the dwarf and the green-eyed anomaly. But since they weren't meant to be intimidating, the Company merely garnered another good laugh.

They continued onward with Gandalf leading the way, his staff emitting light when it was needed. Harry had no idea just when they would reach Orthanc and, deciding that it was the perfect opportunity to study, unearthed his animagus text from out of his satchel. Gandalf's staff provided the sufficient light, and all Harry had to do was place a floating charm on the book; which he did. He spent a moment observing the tiger/man on the front cover trying to escape the unearthly light by hiding on the spine, but he was too fat. Eventually he disappeared, actually crawling underneath the cover and into the book.

"Barnaby Bagshot says that once you've found your inner animal you have to say the spell _Aniverto_ in your head whilst concentrating extremely hard," Harry said, after a few minutes of reading. "Otherwise, you could end up half of your animal."

Harry and Gandalf pretended that everyone wasn't listening in as they conversed.

"Mmm," said Gandalf.

"That's all you have to say?"

"Only because I think you should concentrate on concentrating first, before you attempt a spell of this level —"

"Of course I'm going to do that!" Harry said. He had not meant to give a different assumption. "I just thought it would be beneficial to read ahead."

"And it is! Though, in your case I think it may just confuse you."

Harry couldn't _believe_ it. Was that really what Gandalf thought?

"You are angry with me." It wasn't a question.

"I'm not."

"You are, and I understand why you are."

Harry didn't say anything. He _wasn't_ angry with Gandalf. He was just very annoyed. He'd thought his friend had more faith in him than that. Hadn't Harry proven that he was capable? Somehow, along the way, and without knowing when, Gandalf's opinion had become as important to him as Sirius's had once been, and that Gandalf actually disapproved of Harry studying more . . .? Surely Harry _should_ study the animagus text book? And what would Gandalf know about Harry's magic anyway?

_A lot more than you do, if yesterday's talk is anything to go by._

Harry's cheeks turned immediately hot with shame. That was true, wasn't it?

"I'm sorry, Gandalf," he said quietly, staring down at his saddle.

A warm weight settled on his shoulder, and Harry turned to see Gandalf's hand. "There is no need to be. Although never think it is not appreciated," he said, smiling. "I have never been young, but I imagine it is a very fickle stage of one's life."

Harry could only nod, glad that Gandalf wasn't angry with him.

"Besides," his grin turned knowing, "I have no authority to dictate your choices. You can be as angry with me as you like."

"But I'm not!" Harry was quick to assure. "I never was! Please believe me, Gandalf, I never —"

"Calm, calm." Gandalf held up a hand. "I am not angry with you, Harry, merely . . . amused. Nothing you do unintentionally can ever seriously anger me."

Harry smiled. Gandalf's opinion meant everything to him in that moment, and he was glad that the wizard hadn't taken him seriously. The hot burst of shame that Harry had felt earlier was dwindling, but not gone. Gandalf had been right. He had been too impetuous, too impatient. He was supposed to learn step by step with careful consideration, especially given that the animagus transformation was one of the high level ones, even more so than the patronus charm as it could kill you — or at least permanently disable you.

Harry wondered if he would have taken as much precaution had he studied animagi with Hermione and Ron. _Probably not_, he was forced to admit. Hermione would have given him similar advice to what Gandalf just did, but Harry was certain that he would have ignored her. Sometimes Hermione's McGonagallism tended to lean towards the going-too-far mark, and became highly grating after a while.

They continued plodding along, the better part of the morning spent traipsing through the cloying wood. Legolas and Gimli got into a friendly spat about what was better: trees or caves, and only until Aragorn thought to intervene did they stop. Everyone was thankful for that, but not Gimli. As it turned out the dwarf was a little frightened of the wood, but had been too proud to admit it. Instead he had sought a distraction by provoking Legolas — who was only too happy to be provoked it seemed.

"It is hot in here," said the elf now, looking about him. "I feel a great wrath about me. Do you not feel the air throb in your ears?"

"Yes," said Gandalf.

"What has become of our dead foes?" said Legolas.

"That, I think, we will never know," said Gandalf.

But Harry noticed Legolas glance from side to side with a contemplative look on his face. "These are the strangest trees I ever saw," he said; "and I have seen many an oak grow from acorn to ruinous age. I wish that there were leisure now to walk among them: they have voices, and in time I might come to understand their thought."

"No, no! said Gimli. "Let us leave them! I guess their thought already: hatred of all that go on two legs; and their speech is of crushing and strangl —"

"My magic worked!"

Everyone looked at Harry, who flushed at the attention. He hadn't meant to blurt it out, but he had only just realised . . .

"Gandalf, I levitated my book, _here_, in Fangorn Forest! My magic couldn't work here before, why does it — _oh, oh!" _He snapped his fingers. "Er . . . never mind. Sorry."

Gandalf chuckled approvingly. "I do not need for you to explain to me what conclusion you drew. I am certain it is the right one."

Harry grinned. He was certain, too. All the previous times Harry hadn't been able to do magic in Fangorn Forest because he had assumed that Saruman's presence over said forest had simply been too strongly felt, and it had messed with his magic. But now, with the forest fighting back . . .

"But I probably won't be able to do any difficult spells. Just the simple ones."

"Quite so," Gandalf nodded.

Everyone else looked on interestedly.

They rode in silence for a while until Gimli and Legolas started up their conversation about trees and caves again, though the outcome was largely different this time around.

"You move me, Gimli," Legolas said, after the dwarf had finished his passionate speech on the beauty of caves. "Come! Let us make this bargain — if we both return safe out of the perils that await us, we will journey for a while together. You shall visit Fangorn with me, and then I will come with you to see Helm's Deep."

"That would not be the way of return that I should choose," said Gimli. "But I will endure Fangorn, if I have your promise to come back to the caves and share their wonder with me."

"You have my promise," said Legolas. "But Alas! Now we must leave both cave and wood for a while! See! We are coming to the end of the trees. How far is it to Isengard Gandalf?"

"About fifteen leagues, as the crows of Saruman make it."

"And how much is that in kilometres?" Harry asked dully, now sure that it would take an extra day to reach Merry and Pippin.

The others gave him puzzled looks.

Harry shook his head. "Never mind." Just how large _was_ Fangorn anyway? And how long would it have taken them to get there if part of the forest had not apparated (or whichever way it had travelled) to Rohan? Harry did not like to think about that. He wanted to see his little friends desperately, even though Gandalf had assured him they were being well looked after. But he couldn't help it. Merry and Pippin did not have a Hedwig with which to send letters and keep them company. But then, Merry and Pippin weren't stuck in Mordor.

Hadn't Gandalf mentioned something shepherd trees yesterday, whatever they were?

The thought of them did not comfort him. What use were trees in protecting hobbits? Then Harry remembered how this forest had somehow swallowed half an uruk army. And a dead one at that!

_Right._ Harry gulped and looked about him. Knotty, twisted, dark branches met his gaze. Now he knew how Gimli felt.

But then why hadn't it bothered to swallow the other half? His own brain answered that one: _because the other half was burnt by the Rohirrim._

"Hmmm."

They rested a while for lunch, and then some. Gandalf told them they should reach Isengard my morning. The king didn't look particularly happy about that, but didn't complain either.

Harry stared into the fire, where a few rabbits were roasting comfortably on long sticks. They would not provide much meat, but Harry wasn't worried about that. Legolas still had a few chunks of Elven bread left, and that would be enough to suffice, even without the added rabbit. He just wished he had some fruit, or greens, or something. Especially the "or something". He would give anything for some Chocolate Frogs right now. His mouth watered at the thought and his stomach growled in answer.

A coarse laugh brought him out of his fantasy.

"_Poh_, twenty-seven, elf! I doubt that!" Gimli was saying as he shifted a skewered rabbit to better sit on the fire. "We had not even been fighting ten minutes before the lad cursed them dead! Now, _seven_ I would believe . . ."

Legolas, noticing Harry watching them, tipped him a short wink. "You insult me, my friend! I have killed more in the space of two minutes, let along ten!"

Gimli responded something to the effect of a grumble, which Harry took to mean was the dwarf's way of apologising.

Legolas merely laughed. "I jest with you, Gimli. Twas not twenty-seven —"

The dwarf nodded smugly . . .

"— twas forty-seven."

. . . which turned into an immediate sputter.

Across the fire Boromir coughed into his fist to disguise the urge to laugh. And Aragorn, who had been sharpening his sword with a smooth rock, accidentally jerked from the force of his snigger and almost sliced his finger open.

"Well _I_ killed about ten thousand," said Harry, "so you shouldn't talk."

There was silence for the space of three seconds, as everyone took the time to process that. Gimli burst out laughing first, and the rest followed instantly. Harry received several appreciative remarks. And Éomer, still chuckling, clapped him on the back. "Well done, Master Potter! That should end the debate, I think!"

"Indeed." Legolas inclined his head at Harry.

For the rest of that day the atmosphere was light, despite their dark surrounds, and most the Company slept well and happily.

xxxxxx

That night they made it out of the trees at last, and very glad of the fact. Legolas looked behind them once more, and started. "There are eyes!" he said. "Eyes looking out from the shadows of the boughs! I have never seen such eyes before."

Harry whipped around to get a better look, just as Gimli cried, "No, no! Do as you please in your madness, but let me first get down from this horse! I wish to see no eyes!"

"Stay, Legolas Greenleaf!" ordered Gandalf. "Do not go back into the wood, not yet! Now is not your time."

Then Harry finally worked out what Legolas had meant about "walking trees" because even as Gandalf spoke trees — actual trees — started coming out of the forest and heading northward. Harry gaped, not realising he was doing so. "They're – they're walking!"

"Yes," Gandalf explained. "They are Ents. Shepherds of the forest. They will not bother us."

Gandalf was right. The Ents were completely ignoring them. Some even let out long, cow-like cries as they trod. Harry shivered. To think that these things had been in the forest the entire time, watching them . . . Yet more Ents came then, out of the darkness, joining the previous ones. Then they all disappeared back into the trees.

Once the excitement was over they continued riding (Legolas reluctantly), now made easier for the lack of forest. In no time it seemed they bypassed the Gap of Rohan and reached the Fords, which was partly empty; the bank now littered with dry pebbles and dirt. Everywhere there was the evidence of carnage.

"This has become a dreary place," said Éomer. "What sickness has befallen the river?" Many fair things has Saruman destroyed: has he devoured the springs of Isen too?"

"So it would seem," said Gandalf, grim-faced. "I had hoped there would be more water here, though, strangely enough, there is certainly more than when I last trod these paths, and I would not trust it either . . . Harry."

Harry understood without having to be asked. He conjured some water for the horses, letting it pour into their leather bladders, which everyone hooked over the muzzles.

They all thanked him.

"Not at all."

They travelled five more leagues along the Isen River until they reached the foot of the Misty Mountains, where they rested for a bit. Harry was thankful for this because, despite the cushioning charm, his bottom had gone completely numb — as it should when sitting for so long. He was not used to riding for this amount of time, even on a broom.

It was late-afternoon by the time they finally made it through the real Fangorn forest and into Isengard, which was completely flooded. "Now we know where the rest of the River Isen went," Boromir mumbled. As they passed through the end of the trees, Harry spotted something that made his heart leap in happiness. Two familiar little figures were lounging on a boulder, and looking like they were having the time of their lives.

"I feel like I'm back at the Green Dragon, mug in my hand and putting my feet up, after a hard days work," Pippin was saying as he bit into a piece of smoked meat.

"Only," Merry continued, mouth full of bread, "you've never done a hard day's work."

They laughed merrily. It was Pippin who noticed them first, then Merry, their faces split into such a wide grins that Harry thought they'd break them.

"Welcome, my Lords, to Isengard," said Merry.

"You young rascals!" Gimli exclaimed, gesturing with his axe. "A merry hunt you've led us on, and now we find you feasting and – and smoking!"

Pippin bit once more into the meat. "We are sitting on a field of victory, enjoying a few well-earned comforts. The salted pork is particularly good."

Gimli was suddenly interested. "Salted pork?"

Gandalf shook his head. "Hobbits!" he grumbled affectionately.

"We are under orders from Treebeard, who has taken over management of Isengard."

Then the hobbits leapt down and, still laughing merrily, descended upon them, splashing waist-full into the water. Greetings were exchanged, with Théoden and Éomer looking shell-shocked at the sight of Merry and Pippin. They had never seen hobbits before, it was clear, and had probably regarded them as a myth up until this point. The hobbits were both particularly surprised — though no less delighted — to see Boromir, whom they thought had surely died back at the Anduin River.

Boromir laughed and embraced them both warmly. "I would have had it not been for Harry and his timely magic!"

Then they spotted him.

"Hi." Harry waved a little awkwardly. The last time he had seen the two hobbits had been through an invisibility cloak while they rode on the backs of monstrous uruks. It had not been an especially satisfying conversation. On both counts.

But Merry and Pippin only blinked, delighted. "Harry!" they cried and, having a little trouble wading through the water, came up to him. Harry descended — a little awkwardly and with a disgusted grimace at the feel of his now clinging wet robes — and they both took the opportunity to hug him around the middle.

"It's good to see you guys." For some strange reason, Harry felt his throat clog up. It wasn't as though he hadn't known that they were all right, it was just seeing them again, his littlest friends . . . it was a relief.

Then Gandalf urged them all to hop back onto their horses as they were wasting time — Pippin would be riding with him, and Merry with Aragorn — then they waded into the city of Orthanc.

The first thing that caught Harry's attention was the incredibly tall black tower looming over them. Orthanc. The Dark Wizard Saruman was somewhere in there, perhaps plotting something dastardly. The second thing that caught his attention was the walking tree. The _enormous_ walking tree. _It's ugly,_ was his first thought as he finally got a look at it up close. _But that doesn't make it any less cool_. It was, indeed, majestic. And tall. Very, very tall.

"Huraroom . . ." it said, and Harry jumped stupidly at the sound of the deep, gravely voice. "Young Master Gandalf, I'm glad you've come. Wood and water, stock and stone I can master, but there is a wizard to be managed here . . . Locked in his tower."

Beside him, Aragorn whispered, "Show yourself."

"Be careful," Gandalf cautioned, "even in defeat Saruman is dangerous."

"Then let's have his head and be done with it!" said Gimli.

"No! We need him alive. We need him to talk. Harry, stay with me." Gandalf gestured with his staff and Harry nudged Hammrod in place alongside the white wizard, who smiled at him. "Be not afraid, Harry."

"Don't worry. I'm not."

"Saruman will show himself soon. He cannot afford not to."

Harry nodded, and gazed at the flood of water surrounding the citadel. The place was all so very . . . wizardly. Despite knowing that it belonged to a dark wizard, he couldn't help but think it was bloody amazing! But the most interesting thing by far had to be the Gandalf-like white figure that had just appeared standing on top of the tower, staff in hand and looking very mysterious and, well, _wizardly_. For a split moment Harry was determined to believe that it was Gandalf, so alike did the two wizards look, but common sense prevailed.

"That's Saruman, then."

When Harry looked Gandalf's way it was to see him staring upwards. "Yes, it is he."

"Be careful," Legolas cautioned, sidling up his and Gimli's horse to stand beside Harry's. "He speaks ill words that may sound sweet upon your ear. Do not let him speak, for he will speak until a spell hath been put upon you."

The two wizards exchanged looks.

"I think," Gandalf said, before Harry had a chance to respond, "that Harry need not worry about _that_ particular strength of Saruman's. And I dare say it will diminish soon, much as the rest of his power has done so. He is no threat to us now."

There had been a certain firmness to Gandalf's tone that they had not heard since The Mines of Moria and Gandalf's face-off against the Balrog, and Harry was inclined to pity Saruman at the moment.

"Ah, yes," Legolas's face showing a slightly more intuitive understanding than the others'.

Saruman spoke then, but despite the unusual deepness of his voice, it had no effect on Harry. "You have fought many wars and slain many men, Théoden King, and made peace afterwards. Can we not take council together as we once did, my old friend? Can we not have peace, you and I?"

Théoden nodded. "We shall have peace. We shall have peace, when you answer for the burning of the Westfold! And the children that lie dead there! We shall have peace, when the lives of the soldiers whose bodies were hewn even as they lay dead on the gates of the Hornburg, are avenged! When you hang from a gibbet for the sport of your own crows . . . we shall have peace."

_Wow_, was all Harry could think.

"Gibbets and crows! Dotard!" It seemed Saruman's eyes then fell towards Harry and Gandalf. "What do you want, Gandalf Greyhame? Let me guess. The key of Orthanc. Or perhaps the keys of Barad-dûr itself! Along with the crowns of the seven kings and the rods of the Five Wizards!"

Shadowfax moved forward, Harry following at Gandalf's signal. Now both of them were away from the others, and he could not help but feel that Gandalf had just made them into a deliberate target.

"And who is this?" Saruman said softly and slowly. "A boy? But no mere boy could destroy an entire army! What are you!"

"A wizard," Harry answered pleasantly. "Arrived a couple of months back. Weather's been nice."

There was silence after that, then Gandalf — after giving Harry a narrowed look — spoke: "You know he is a wizard, Saruman. He is the Black Wizard, and his hat alone ought to prove it. But Harry Potter is of no concern to you now. You, on the other hand, are of great concern. Your treachery has already cost many lives. Thousands more are now at risk. But you could save them, Saruman. You were deep in the enemy's council."

"So you have come here for information. I have some for you." He held up his hand, in which was a large, black, crystal ball. "Something festers in the heart of Middle-Earth. Something that you have failed to see. But the Great Eye had seen it. Even now he presses his advantage. His attack will come soon. You're all going to die." He paused here. "But you know this, don't you Gandalf?"

He continued on in this vein for some time, insulting both Aragorn and Gandalf. In particular Gandalf. "Tell me," he said now. "What words of comfort did you give the half-ling before you sent him to his doom? The path that you have set him on can only lead to death."

Anger, hot and bubbling, erupted in Harry's stomach. How dare this idiot accuse Gandalf of not caring about Frodo and Sam? And Gandalf looked so guilty at the moment . . . Harry was about to speak up and let Saruman know just what a bloody git he was, but Gimli beat him to it. "I've heard enough! Shoot him! Stick an arrow in his gob!"

Legolas prepared to do just that, but Gandalf said "No! Come down, Saruman, and your life will be spared."

"Save your pity and your mercy. I have no use for it!" Saruman lifted his staff and an enormous fireball erupted from the end.

Harry panicked for the splittest millisecond. After that it took him another split millisecond to work out just why it was useless to panic, and he spent the next O.4 seconds (in the time it took the fireball to reach him and Gandalf) staring calmly.

What happened next did not surprise anyone (except Saruman), least of all Harry and Gandalf (who, wise in the way of Maia had long before Harry predicted the consequences of Saruman's fireball), for the ball of flame had all but reached the two wizards when it went up again, in the exact direction it had ventured to start with and Saruman, seeing this, was forced to leap aside lest he get hit with his own spell. The wayward fireball then blazoned up past the tower, up, up, so high until not even Elven sight could find it anymore.

Saruman cried out in anger and fear. But mostly fear.

"Thank you, Harry." Gandalf's voice sounded as though he'd just been handed a glass of orange juice. "I did not need to exert myself this time."

"Not at all, Gandalf." Though in truth Harry hadn't done anything except sit there. The consequences of Middle-Earth magic in effect to his own had, once again, come in handy.

"Saruman!" Gandalf called, a great power in his voice. "Your staff is broken!"

There was a loud crackling, sizzling noise as the wood of Saruman's staff split in twain and exploded from the power of Gandalf's words alone. Harry was even more impressed now. If only it were that easy to finish off Death Eaters . . .

A man appeared from behind Saruman then, who reminded Harry a lot of Snape.

"Grima." The king sounded surprised. "You need not follow him. You are not always as you are now. You were once a man of Rohan. Come down."

"A man of Rohan? What is the house of Rohan, but a thatched barn where brigands drink in the reek and their brats roll on the floor with the dogs? The victory at Helm's Deep does not belong to you, Théoden Horsemaster —"

"No," Harry interrupted sharply, sick of hearing Saruman continue to get away with spewing out insults, "it belongs to me, you old git! And if you don't come down now I'm going to do to you what I did to your bloody precious army!"

It was a bluff, and a bold one, but if what Gandalf had told him was true, then Saruman feared him. A lot. He might as well utilize the opportunity since Gandalf wasn't getting anywhere.

Gandalf whispered, "Well done." And Boromir said, "If _that_ does not get him down . . ."

But they were wrong. Saruman moved away from the edge of the tower until they couldn't see him anymore.

Gandalf sighed. "He will not be coming down now, and we cannot afford to sit and wait for his provisions to run out. He will stay locked in his tower until he rots. We must leave, and send word to all our allies. The enemy moves against us. We need to know where he will strike!"

"Gandalf, I can unlock the door for you if you want —" Harry stopped because Gandalf was shaking his head. "No. Orthanc is teeming with magic. Yours will not work against it, Harry."

_Oh._

Just then a heavy plop sounded that made them all start and get splashed-on. The Snape-man had shuffled to the edge of the tower and thrown the great black crystal ball, then shuffled back again. Pippin went after it, and Gandalf asked for it immediately. The hobbit, looking reluctant, handed it to the white wizard.

Then Gandalf ordered them to gather as many provisions as they could from Saruman's stockroom, which was in a small building off to the side. It would have to last them on the journey back to the Golden Hall. Gandalf was also ecstatic to discover something that he called "Longbottom Leaf" (an image of Neville with leaves sprouting out of his ears popped into Harry's head at that point), of which the two hobbits had already snagged half.

_No wonder they were a bit loopy before._

They said goodbye to Treebeard the Ent, and mounted their horses.

It was time for the journey back.

xxxx

In Mordor, two hobbits and one owl slept peacefully. Smeagol watched over them, a look of gleeful disgust painted on his permanently ugly face. He climbed towards the white bird, perched ever so innocently on a thin bough, wrapped his spindly fingers about her soft neck, and wrung it until she was very, very dead. Then he climbed back down and hid the body under a crop of boulders that he covered with some dead leaves.

Gollum settled down to rest, assured now that his plan to lead the two hobbits into Shelob's cave would not be interfered with.

xxxxxx

A/N: Once again I have taken direct quotes from both the movie and the book. They're easy to recognise I think.


	20. The Dark Lord Effect

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling. The Lord of the Rings belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien. I do not own anything. I am making no profit whatsoever in writing this story. This is an amateur attempt.

A/N: _My gosh _Deathly Hallows_ was certainly . . . fascinating._

In honour of reaching twenty chapters, I have this to say: This chapter is dedicated to all those who stuck by me, who reviewed, who love this story, who tolerate this story, and who were, sorry to say, too easily persuaded by the last chapter. Some of you guessed it, some didn't. I apologise to the latter.

Enjoy.

xxxxxx

**Chapter Twenty: The Dark Lord Effect**

He had slept well the night before last, but since then reality had not been as sweet as his dreams. Chances to murder the owl were few and far between — the traitorous Baggins rarely slept these days and the fat one was not far behind. She had eyes like those of elves, and despite all his wicked cunning she never slept during the night. He remembered a time when he used to remember that — that owls were night creatures. He wished now that he _had_ remembered it, before he'd become so excited. Still, the idea of murder would not leave his head. Bird she may be but Hedwig was a wizard's pet, he had heard the hobbits whisper. She was also the hobbits' protector, and he did not doubt that she would fly off to get her master if he tried anything. And that would not bode well, no indeed.

Though, he was prone to wonder now if he could somehow use her poor day vision to his advantage. This would be risky, and might even alert the fat one. Gollum hated the fat one. The fat one was too wily. The fat one saw what the traitorous master did not.

Gollum spent a lot of his time thinking now. About the Ring, about the bird, about the Ring, about the bird, and about killing. Killing he thought to be very good and very satisfying and he loved thinking it when scrunching along the forest floor or paddling his way around the few dark ponds that Mordor hosted. The fish there were even darker, but Gollum ate them. They tasted of coal and mouldy boots, but Gollum gobbled them down, snickering as the hobbits starved themselves, day by day preserving their elven bread. Gollum thought it would be a pity if something were to happen to it.

He thought also of eating Hedwig. He dreamed constantly of wringing her neck and burying her, or jumping at her from a high boulder and sinking his teeth into her soft belly as she flapped past. That last fantasy had become his favourite. Bird, Gollum thought, was sweet and tender, and he'd hardly had it in the last five hundred years. The taste of the succulent meat had first filled his mouth when he'd left his caves under the Misty Mountains and tried searching for his stolen Ring. Fish and goblin were hard to come by in the elven wood, but bird not at all. He'd been eating a bird when those cunning elves had found him. _But not so cunning in the end, no, no precious._ Bird, bird, bird, bird, bird . . . he'd compose a song about eating bird and sing it to the owl as he murdered her. Yes, that would be very satisfying.

But how to go about doing it?

His dreams were filled with scattered feathers and torn-off wings and sweet, sweet blood, and it frustrated him greatly, infuriated him, that he could not do the same when he woke up. That it just did not work like that. Hedwig was smarter in reality than she was in his dreams. If she needed a rest she made sure to fly off where Gollum could not find her. That was another thing that infuriated him: her flying. Gollum could not sniff out her scent as he would do with other beasts. The wind stole it away from him.

"Nassty, nasty owlsie," his hissed to himself, rocking gently backwards and forwards in his crouched position and lightly fingering the deep grooves in his shoulders, caused by Hedwig's claws. Gollum had never been thus injured. Goblins were too stupid to fight a wily creature in the dark, despite having good night eyes themselves, but only because Gollum had snuck up behind them and wrung their necks. He'd had plenty of luck with his precious in tow, but his precious was gone now in the hands of that nasty Baggins boy. He hated the Baggins! He hated the Baggins!

"Nassty hobbitses."

And at last had Smeagol agreed with him. It had taken a lot of convincing on Gollum's part, but Smeagol's mind was weak. All Smeagol needed was a betrayal from his new master and Gollum whispering in his ear and he was ready to do anything Gollum said.

He hated Smeagol almost as much as he hated the Baggins, but Gollum had to tolerate him, yes, yes, he had to if he wanted his _precious_ back.

He thought also of his _precious_ even more than murdering Hedwig, but in order to get his _precious_ he had to kill the bird, so that was his first priority at the moment. If only that nasty fat one would leave him alone. Suspicious was he. Sometimes too much. Gollum wished the fat one were more stupid, like the goblins that wandered down into his cave and got eaten. Gollum also wondered whether hobbit tasted good, but then remembered biting into the fat one's neck. No, no, hobbit tasted no good at all. It also reminded him of a time when he was once a hobbit, and he loathed thinking back on that at all.

In the deep part of his brain, where Gollum stored his long forgotten memories, something recoiled at the idea of eating a person whose race he was once a part of. Gollum did not understand this feeling, and it made him very furious indeed. So much so that he was taken to hissing loudly and hurling rocks into the little pond that he and the hobbits had settled down in front of for the night. This awakened Sam and alerted Hedwig, which only made Gollum hiss even more, this time at his own stupidity.

"What are you doin', stinker?" Sam asked, coming up behind the creature. He liked it not that he had fallen asleep again, especially when he had told himself he wouldn't. He cheered up briefly at the thought of Hedwig watching over him. Hedwig would never let anything happen to Sam or Frodo.

"Nothing, nothing, nothing," Gollum sang.

"Nothing my Gaffer's foot," Sam muttered and, stretching, shuffled off back to his sleeping pallet. Rest was all well and good if you could get it, but Sam hardly could these days. He would try anyway. He could not understand Gollum's muttering, and sleep would be a much better idea. Hedwig, after all, would alert them to any danger.

Then the creature began to sing: _"Meat is white and good to bite,"_

"Quiet," said Sam.

"_Sweet is meat and good to eat."_

"Oi, stinker, I'm tryin' to sleep."

"_Fingers will rip and tear and pound/'Til all of the feathers fall to the ground."_

Sam was starting to get a little frightened now. This did not sound like a washing song. "What are you doin'?"

Gollum laughed in that hissing voice that Sam hated. _"Then Gollum will eat and sup the treat/ And hobbitses will wonder/ Of the bird down yonder/ That's buried in peat —"_

"Quiet, you!" said Sam. If only Mr Frodo were awake. He would be able to hear the creature's foul muttering. He would finally believe Sam. Sam had always known that Gollum was several pints too short of a keg, and slippery and sly as a snake in the grass. "_Peat_, he says. We've past the Dead Marshes, Gollum. You'll have to think of somethin' better to frighten me with," said Sam bravely.

"I think it should be very easy," muttered Gollum, and this frightened Sam more than he could possibly express.

Oh, what a dastardly few weeks it had been, trotting around Mordor. Last week they had lost Harry's sack with all its delicious food and parchment and ink. Sam thought he might have accidentally left it in front of the Black Gates as he'd tumbled down the pebbly incline, and that memory made him feel so guilty that he could not bear to even speak of it; could not even look Mr Frodo in the eye, and that was very dangerous, he knew, what with the Ring increasing every bad feeling a thousand-fold, just like Gandalf had told them it would. He had also received rather a sprained toe from that incident. Couple that with walking every day until nightfall and you get one very unhappy little hobbit.

What a foul, dark and dank place Mordor was. Wishes never got anyone anything, but Sam could not help but wish that they could leave and toss the Ring somewhere else. Like a privy. _That is very fitting,_ he was often inclined to think. No one sane would ever think to search through refuse.

"_Feathers and blood go spattery splittery."_

Not again. "Quiet."

"Fat hobbit cannot make us go quiet," Smeagol muttered with an evil snicker.

_Fat,_ thought Sam grumpily. The stinker would say that. "I'm warnin' you, Gollum, hold your tongue if you don't want somethin' unpleasant to happen to it!"

"It wants us to hold our tongue, eh _precious_? Smeagol says he won't do it, he won't! Smeagol likes to sing: _Feathers and blood go spattery splittery/ On dittery, on dittery, spattery splittery."_

"What nonsense," Sam mumbled. "That ain't no song, or my Gaffer's an elf."

"Nassty hobbit doesn't like our song. Perhaps Smeagol should think of another?"

"No!" Sam cried. "Don't think of another!"

"We shall, we shall!"

The vow only made Sam even angrier, but he dared not raise his voice anymore lest he awaken Frodo. Oh, what he wouldn't give for a decent pint of ale. Or even a pipe. Or some sleep. Or for Gollum to shut up . . .

"_Meat is white and good to bite_

_Sweat is meat and good to eat._

_Fingers will rip and tear and pound_

'_Til all of the feathers fall to the ground._

_Then Smeagol will eat and sup the treat_

_And hobbitses will wonder,_

_Of the bird down yonder_

_That's buried in peat._

_Feathers and blood go spattery splittery,_

_On dittery, on dittery, spattery splittery._

_Foul on the fowl,_

_Dead feathers on the bough._

_Doom in the gloom,_

_Feathers on the tomb._

_On dittery, on dittery, spattery splittery._

What a horrid, _horrid_ song! And what an even more horrid tune, certainly not something Sam wanted to listen to in Mordor. He had enough doom and gloom to be going on with. That Gollum, he ought to be buried himself. And Sam knew just what the song was about, and here he lay having to listen to it. Poor Hedwig. One of these days the stinker might do her in, just like he was threatening. "If you don't pipe down I'll pull out _your_ feathers," Sam warned.

Smeagol laughed. "We don't have any feathers. Stupid fat hobbit doesn't know us, doesn't see. We thinks he might be blind." Then he went off to sing again.

Sam threw his pack over his head and tried blocking it out. Morning could not come soon enough for him. But it pleased him to see Frodo asleep, at least, because he hardly got it with that loathsome thing about his neck. _Doom and gloom_ indeed.

At last (and after two hours of having to contend with the "Doom Song", as Sam had labelled it in his head) Sam saw the grey of morning penetrate the thick grey clouds and paint the horizon in faint grey tones which lighted on the greyness of Mordor.

_It really is very grey_, thought Sam, and this saddened him briefly.

Mordor, indeed, was a dull place for hobbits, who were used to little green valleys and streams and comfortable holes. Mordor also was very big, and Sam had still not got used to it. But then, he had not got used to travelling much outside Hobbiton either, let alone trekking across Middle Earth. He was a simple hobbit with a simple lifestyle, and Mordor was anything but. Why, he'd yet to see a youngling root anywhere.

Sometimes their dreary grey surrounds parted to reveal patches of wood, and the hobbits would tread on something that might have once been called earth (but in the hobbit's experience was simply dry dirt). These moments were few and far between, but Sam loved them. It was a relief to feel something soft beneath his feet other than hard rock, and he imagined it was the same for Mr Frodo. He didn't imagine how it was for Gollum. That is, he tried not to imagine but could not help himself.

Sam thought of Gollum more times a day then there were minutes. He could not help it as the creature was always there, slinking ahead of them and muttering to himself under his breath. Such was their daily habit that the hobbits would not even see Gollum until half a day later, and he would come back covered in the wet and the slime that was built up under the boulders of ponds.

Sam reached over and shook Frodo awake, then set about dividing a small portion of elven bread for each of them. There was a lot left since they'd hardly used it, preferring instead to eat out of Harry's pack. But that was gone now. Gone in front of the black gates and just waiting for some big lumbering orc to come and find it. This image angered Sam so much that he accidentally broke off more _lembas_ then he'd meant to, and ended up having to stuff the extra piece into a small pocket in his pack and hope that it wouldn't get squashed.

"How much water is left?" Frodo asked. He had just eaten his _lembas_, and despite the slight moistness of the biscuit his throat was parched.

"Not much," said Sam, but handed the bladder over just the same.

"There's no need to feel that way, Sam," said Frodo, observing his friend's guilty expression. "It could have happened to me just as easily."

"I was charged with lookin' after it, Mr Frodo. Now we have no fresh water or food."

"The elven bread will suffice. I find myself developing rather a liking to it."

"I'll thank you not to make me feel better," Sam muttered, and Frodo choked down a laugh. Then he tipped back the bladder and took a large gulp. "You go ahead and drink that, Mr Frodo," Sam nodded. "Don't worry about me, I'll get by."

Frodo looked at his friend reproachfully. "Sam."

"I said not to worry," said Sam, picking at a pebble by his toe. "You think this old hobbit can't last a day without water?"

Frodo smiled. It was either that or weep.

Their situation seemed so hopeless now. If it weren't for the presence of Hedwig, who made them feel very safe and comfortable and was their only link to the outside world, Frodo was certain he would have fallen into despair long ago. Speaking of which, perhaps they should send their letter to Aragorn. Just to tell him that they were fine — well, fine as two small hobbits could be wandering Mordor.

"I think we should send Hedwig off with the letter to Aragorn," Frodo said. "Now is as good a time as any, when we are not yet so deep in this foul land and where Hedwig shan't be as easily spotted when she flies back."

Sam brightened. "Good thing we decided to write a copy before we lost Harry's pack."

"That was my reason for doing so," said Frodo, fiddling with the chain about his neck. It was getting heavier. And he hated that it was visible. He should put it somewhere else. Somewhere safer. Like his pocket. That way Sam wouldn't be able to see it. Should he . . . no, he would think on it later when his friend was asleep. He looked around. "Where is Hedwig?"

"Likely off sleepin'," Sam said, stuffing his blanket into his pack. "A rough night she's had, watching over us."

Frodo said, "Sam," in that way that made the hobbit cringe and become almost annoyed. "Smeagol watches over us as well. Maybe we should ask Hedwig to sleep during the night so she can accompany us in the day."

Sam shuffled closer to the other hobbit and leaned in whisper. "I keep telling you, Mr Frodo, that Gollum's no good. You can't trust him."

"I trust him with my life, Sam," said Frodo, not understanding just what his friend had against the creature. "He has never harmed me."

"He almost did," Sam muttered.

"He's changed. For the better," Frodo added. "I trust him now as much as I trust you."

Sam sighed. The thought, _if only Mr Frodo could hear Gollum's Doom Song_, flitted in and out of his head. "I hope you know what you're doin' Frodo," he whispered, watching his friend walk over to the pond to greet Gollum. _Otherwise it'll be you what'll get hurt._

Sam was not going to let that happen. Gandalf had entrusted him to stand by Frodo, and that is what Sam was going to do. Frodo had become more than his employer now. He had become his best friend. Well, Frodo had always been his best friend but it all went much deeper now. Frodo was his brother, and if Gollum tried to take his brother away from him, then Sam would kill him.

It was that simple.

xxxxxx

Harry stood leaning against a fat collum, right leg behind the left and one arm tucked under the groove of his shoulder. Somebody — he suspected Gimli as there had been a flash of red hair and jingling metal — had thrust a goblet of ale into his hand and he nursed it slowly, not liking the bitter taste. He would have preferred Butterbeer, but unless Gandalf had some secreted under his robes Harry would have to do without. Although he had seen the White Wizard unearth a two foot long pipe from under his left sleeve earlier in the evening, so anything was possible.

Harry had been commended; Theoden giving a short speech in his honour, thanking him for his effort. The king hadn't gone too overboard with the praises, thank Merlin, and Harry had only had to suffer through a few minutes of back-clapping and offerings of roast potatoes. That last thank you he had found very odd, but nevertheless ate them dutifully. It was only after that he discovered roast potatoes were Gandalf's favourite food so Harry, being a wizard, must also favour them — so every wife and girl over the age of fifteen had assumed. Harry, staring at their expectant faces, hadn't had the heart to correct them.

He spared a moment to glance now at his surroundings or, to be more appropriate, to glance at the drunken revelry. The Golden Hall was noisy, uncomfortably warm, and smelled of the unwashed masses, but that was only to be expected seeing as how it was packed like a sardine can. Every other person or so had chimney smog wafting out of their pipes and lingering about their heads like a fat grey cloud, so he had to squint to be able to see the opposite side of the hall.

A few feet away the barrel man, as Harry had taken to calling him, was cackling at something — probably his own foot, what with how drunk he was — and more often than not seemed to be substituting his goblet for that of one of the barrel taps, which he would crouch under, open his mouth, and let amber-gold liquid gush forth. There were several, slurred complaints about his behaviour from the surrounding hangers-on, but seeing as how they were too drunk to do anything _but_ complain the barrel man ignored them. Or perhaps he was too drunk to take any notice.

It occurred to Harry suddenly that there was a reason for this behaviour, and it had nothing to do with celebrating an almost hard won victory and everything to do with Helm's Deep. Friends, family, loved ones had died, despite Harry killing off all the Uruk-hai. As Gimli had said two days earlier in Fangorn Forest, there had been at least ten minutes of fighting beforehand. Human nature declared it all right to drown your sorrows in alcohol, and everyone appeared to be following that rule to the tee, so much so that they were forgetting why they had become intoxicated in the first place.

Across the hall and through the smoke Merry and Pippin were entertaining some men on a table and dancing what looked like the hobbit version of the _Can-Can_.

Harry blinked.

Then snorted.

Since he'd been taking a small gulp at the time a bit of ale almost shot out of his nose. He ended up coughing instead.

A large hand clapped him forcefully on the back. Harry nodded his thanks to —

"Prince Eomer. Hello."

Eomer shot him an odd look. Harry wondered if he had inavertedly made a fau pax.

"_Lord_ Eomer?" he tried.

"Eomer is just as good," said the blond, bearded man, giving Harry another narrow look. "You have had that same goblet for nigh on two hours now." He nodded at Harry's hand.

Harry didn't need to look down to know that it was a little under half full. "Yes."

"Would you not prefer a colder one?"

"Erm . . ." _Not particularly._ He'd rather prefer a glass of water. He wasn't about to tell that to Eomer, though. "Have you got any red wine?" He saw the look on Eomer's face. "I guess not."

"Are you mad?" Eomer snorted. This sound became redundant when he started to grin. "That brew is hard to come by, young wizard, and only the king and his party are ever permitted to drink it as its making is costly. Although, you would be included in our party now I suppose," said Eomer contemplatively, then started, looking sheepish. "Forgive me, Master Potter, I fear I have offended you."

_I wonder how much fun I can have with this? _thought Harry, smiling a little. Eomer's gaze had widened in fear, like he thought he'd be turned him into something horrible if he made a wrong move. This wasn't the first incident, nor the last probably, where Harry had been forced to notice just how suspicious the people in this country were. "Not at all," he said, not wishing to make Eomer sweat any longer. As a matter of fact he felt stupid himself. These were simple people and, from what he could gather, had a rather more backward culture than that of the elves in Lothlorien. More peasant-like. Of course the king and party wouldn't administer wine to the masses if they hardly had enough for themselves!

"Good, good," said Eomer, clapping him again on the shoulder. "Join me now, if you want. Legolas and Gimli are to have a drinking contest, and I am to judge the winner."

"What, are you placing bets — I mean wagers, or something?" asked Harry, letting himself be ushered to the large wooden barrels off to the side. They bumped into a lot of drunken people on the way and when they got there Harry saw that the barrel man was now lying under a table, snoozing the night away. Legolas and Gimli had positioned themselves around it; Gimli gnawing on yet another leg of mutton bone, or something.

"If one wants to place a wager who am I to stop them," said Eomer, throwing a friendly arm over his shoulder. "Do you wish —?"

"No," said Harry. "No I don't. I haven't anything to wager except my hat, which is currently shrunk, but thanks anyway. Hi guys," he greeted.

"Hi," said Legolas, testing out the word. He looked awkward doing so. Harry received the sudden bizarre impression that elves were never meant to talk in slang.

"How 'bout we just stick with mai-govanin," Harry offered, hoping he'd got it right.

The elf's face couldn't have looked more surprised. "Who taught you to say that?"

"Gimli," said Harry.

As one, Legolas, Eomer, and Harry looked at the dwarf, who looked back up at them. "What?" he questioned, his tone gruffer than usual. "I did nothing except let out a bit of southerly wind. Perfectly natural, I think. And don't think I miss hearing you at night, elf, when you believe everyone asleep."

Harry and Eomer snorted into their cups as Legolas went so red that his ears blushed. Gimli hid his face into his own goblet and pretended to drink. Or maybe not pretended. You couldn't really tell with Gimli. "It's all right, Legolas, as Gimli said it's perfectly natural."

Legolas threw him a betrayed look. "You as well, Harry?"

He shrugged, still grinning. "No one cares. I know I don't care. You should hear Ron at three in the morning."

Legolas threw him a sideways look, and Harry got the horrible impression that he was going to mention something about Harry and his . . . "You're a fine one to talk. Look how you carried on when first you came to us."

"What d'you mean?" said Harry quickly, but his stomach dipped in an unpleasant way; the kind of dip that comes just before impending public embarrassment.

"You are very modest," Legolas said, accepting a goblet of ale from Eomer. "Never have I met a young man as modest as you."

"Things are different where I come — er, hail — from," Harry explained. Inside his chest that unpleasant prickle went away. Legolas was not going to embarrass him. "Wizards and witches don't have public showers or baths or toilets. Well, we do but not in that sense. I mean, you wouldn't want anyone to see you, you know . . ."

Legolas showed his perfect teeth and pointed about. "Look thither, Harry."

Harry looked, though he wasn't quite sure what he was supposed to be staring at. The usual drunken rabble, or something else? "Everyone's partying. Oh, unless you wanted me to see Pippin's arm wrestling match with that big soldier."

"I, too, am starting to wonder just how much that hobbit can drink. But no matter, Gandalf is making sure the Took does not get into too much mischief," said Legolas. "No, look out of the hall and through the door. What do you see?"

Harry squinted through the smoke, bypassed Gandalf, Aragorn, and Boromir (unless he was mistaken there was more smoke hanging above them than above anyone else) and peered through the open doors of the Golden Hall. Standing in a perfect line and facing away from the doors were: "Bunch of men," said Harry.

When he turned back to look at the elf Legolas's brow was raised in a 'do you get it?' sort of way.

"No," said Harry, thinking furiously. "They can't be . . . _there!_ That's just — _you_ wouldn't ever do that!"

"Of course not," said Legolas matter-of-factly. "I am an elf." Then he laughed softly, bells on the grass. "And I do not let myself become full of drink like they do."

"Right."

"One thing I noticed you share in common with my people, _mellon nin_, is your modesty for such situations."

Harry couldn't think of anything to say except "Thanks". _And what does that word mean?_

"Shall we get on with it?" said Gimli gruffly, banging his empty cup on the table.

"So, it is a drinking game," Legolas said, eyeing his own cup suspiciously. "But how oft must I drink before I get drunk? Surely not enough to turn my behaviour into a thing less desirable." He threw such a quick wink at Harry that he thought he'd imagined it at first.

Eomer had one arm draped over a barrel and the other holding a goblet. "Who shall loose, the dwarf or the elf? Either way, I know there will be laughter aplenty at their expense. What say you, Harry?"

"Sure. But I think I'll have to go with Gimli on this one."

Gimli let out a boisterous "Ha!" just as Legolas opened his mouth. "Harry, you wound me," he said, placing a hand on his chest. "Why do you think Gimli will win when he has already drunk quite a bit?"

Oh. "Hadn't thought of that. But Gimli's a dwarf."

Legolas looked on the verge of dismissing that statement contemptuously. "So?"

Harry didn't want to say it was because the elf looked more delicate. "_So_, doesn't he have a stronger digestive tract or something . . ." He trailed off at the confused looks being thrown his way. "Never mind, just get on with it."

"We shall. Starting now," said Legolas.

And so the game began. Harry lost track of how many goblets Legolas and Gimli consumed, but he was sure it was enough to give anyone a heart attack. When Gimli fainted Legolas was declared the winner. Later he explained to Harry that, as an elf, alcohol didn't affect him nearly as much as it affected, say, dwarves or humans. He could have drunk half a barrel and still remained sober.

Amazing.

Then Harry, getting sick of taking small sips every time his throat felt dry, changed every goblet of ale that was thrust upon him to water from then on. By the time the revelry finally died down Harry himself had to substitute a toilet for the wall outside. Needless to say that was not an experience he cared to repeat. He felt better about it afterwards, though, when he spotted Legolas sneaking out to do the same.

He slept. Half-way through the night (or should that be early morning) he awoke to some bloke's smelly toe resting near his head. Squelching the urge to curse the offender, Harry used his wand to levitate the leg away from his pallet and back onto the man's own. Then he fell asleep again.

He was jerked awake most rudely by a stumbling Pippin. "M'what?" he breathed.

It took him but a second to process the situation before he leapt, yanking Saruman's _palantir_ out of Pippin's hands.

Someone very far away was shouting something, but Harry wasn't listening. He was so hot! He was so cold! He felt as though a Dementor was in the room with him. His mind whirled in a thousand shapes and colours and he felt displaced for the longest time. Like his body was there but his mind had decided to take a short trip to Nowhere Land.

The whirling stopped.

And then he saw it. A gigantic eye staring at him through a wreath of orange flames. It seemed curious, beckoning, and without meaning to Harry let it speak to him. He wanted it to speak to him. He wanted to hear what it had to say, despite that little voice in the back of his mind that warned him how stupid it all was. That reminded him eyes weren't allowed to speak.

_Who are you?_

_A boy_, Harry thought absently. That was true.

_What are you?_

_A wizard,_ Harry thought absently.

He instantly received an immense feeling of satisfaction that was not his own.

_What business brings you here, Istar?_

_Certainly none of yours,_ Harry told the eye, and that was the last thing he thought before pain overwhelmed him.

xxxxxx

**A/N:** All right, then. I'm feeling very happy right now as I've just finished two other stories on this site. This means that there will now be REGULAR updates for this story as well as _Little Harry_, because I've got more time now. I'd say once every two weeks until otherwise stated.

_mellon nin:_ my friend.


	21. Hogwarts in Middle Earth

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling. The Lord of the Rings belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien. I do not own anything. I am making no profit whatsoever in writing this story. This is an amateur attempt.

A/N: An extra special thank you to all those who reviewed and offered genuine constructive criticism. An extra special kick up the bum to all those who offered genuine flamers.

Also, I have borrowed some lines from the books and the movies. They are fairly obvious and not mine.

Enjoy.

xxxxx

**Chapter Twenty-One: Hogwarts in Middle Earth**

"You can tell us nothing else?" asked Gandalf, still looking less than relieved.

He wasn't the only one. The entire company (or what was left of it) was gathered about Harry, who'd just been woken up by the wizard, and seemed overly concerned.

"I've told you already that there's nothing else _to_ tell, Gandalf." Harry rubbed a hand over his face. "He was creepy and horrid and smelled like sulphur and I've had enough of experiencing a dark lord's feelings to last me several lifetimes. Can I go wash my face or something, I feel . . . unclean."

Gandalf muttered something in his deep voice that sounded like, "Beg your pardon," and sent Harry a look from beneath his enormous brows. "Off you go, my lad. Use the scullery chamber offside the great hall."

"Thanks," said Harry, feeling a little uncomfortable, then walked out of the large room and into the corridor. He roped a passing soldier into telling him where the scullery was and when he got there he had to wait until the cook finished making breakfast for the king before he could pore himself some water. All the pails were being used so Harry transfigured his hat into one. Then he wandered outside, found the darkest corner in Shadowfax's stall, stripped, and washed. It was only after he ran out of water that he remembered he could conjure his own, but that reminder only served to make him even more irritated.

"Stupid eye," he murmured under his breath, scraping a transfigured sponge down his chest. He accidentally pressed too hard, and winced. He'd never been that good at transfiguration and the sponge more resembled a kiwi fruit than something he could use to wash himself with. It was the best Harry had, though, so he would put up with it.

What really irritated him was that he didn't know why he was so irritated in the first place. It had something to do with what had happened, he knew that, but what?

"Maybe it's because He won?" Harry hadn't even tried to put up a resistance. He'd merely stood there and let himself be . . . what: talked to? Put like that it sounded stupid. _It _is_ stupid. The whole thing's stupid. Aragorn and Pippin spoke to Him too, and they're not acting like a bunch of . . ._ Harry yanked his trousers up furiously.

It was not because of the pain he'd felt either; the cruciatus curse being far more agonising, and still seeming to linger about the limbs for hours after it was lifted. More likely it was because, yet again, he'd let a Dark Lord enter his mind. All those hours of practising Occlumency with Snape (admittedly under duress), even letting Voldemort trick him, even letting Voldemort brief possession of his body at the Department of Mysteries; all that learning gone down the drain. Half a year wasted which could have been better spent learning something more productive — like healing spells. Harry was beginning to wonder if he would ever become an Occlumens. It seemed such a hopeless endeavour, now that he looked back on it, that he thought he ought to just give up learning how to clear his mind.

It infuriated him that he was reduced to thinking like this. He didn't normally pity or doubt himself, and he wondered now if this was what Sauron had reduced Aragorn and Pippin to think; if this was what Sauron specialised in. Being a Dark Lord, he supposed it would be part of his job, not least to say of killing. Thinking this made Harry feel a lot better.

After dressing in a new set of robes he went to pat Shadowfax. The white horse nudged him on the shoulder affectionately when he offered it some sugar-cubes from his trunk.

_I wish I can change into an animal already. Bet I won't have half as many problems._ _But I can't even not think about thinking!_ "What's it like being a horse, then?"

Harry became a little unnerved when Shadowfax sent him a distinctly Gandalf-like look.

_Creepy horse._

All right, so he had to practise not thinking. The hand stroking Shadowfax's long silky main slowed without his being aware. Gandalf had said something that night back at Helm's Deep: "Why, I sleep, of course". Initially Harry had thought the wizard had been telling him to sleep on the problem, but he had already done that and got nowhere. Perhaps Gandalf, in his wise and wizardly way, had been trying to tell Harry something else. Give him a clue, perhaps, that Harry had been, and still was, too dense to see?

_But what?_

For some indescribable reason his mind travelled back to the pain he'd felt earlier when talking to Sauron. What a stupid thing to think. As if pain could help . . . Harry froze, mind whirling. But didn't it, though? Harry hadn't thought of anything while he'd been under Sauron's curse. Sauron's mind curse, as Gandalf had explained.

His heart sped a little. _Was it possible? _In the physical sense, it wouldn't hurt him to try.

He sat back down in the corner of the stall (much to Shadowfax's displeasure — the horse having been nosing him curiously for more sugar cubes), closed his eyes, and concentrated.

'_What business brings you here, Istar?'_

'_Certainly none of yours,' Harry told the eye, and that was the last thing he thought before pain overwhelmed him._

Harry concentrated hard on that pain. He wrapped it in metaphysical hands and yanked it to himself. He remembered how it had felt, jabbing into his head, invading his head, throbbing through him . . .

"Harry?!"

Harry blinked, opened his eyes. Crouching before him, startled and wide-eyed, was Aragorn. He had been trying to get Harry's attention for the last few minutes, it seemed: including slapping and shaking him awake. No wonder his cheek stung.

"You almost missed breakfast. You were gone for a little over two hours," Aragorn explained as they walked out of the stables, and Harry froze.

"You're not serious?" Then, then it had worked far better than Harry had ever hoped it could have! But surely that wasn't possible? Surely magic didn't work like that. Surely you couldn't just wave a wand and . . . oh. Right. _But still, it seems too easy almost, especially as I've had trouble with it for so long._ He and Aragorn made their way into the great hall, Harry's mind still flummoxed.

Just as they were about to step foot through the doors a shriek sounded about their heads. A faint shriek, stolen by the wind. A familiar shriek.

He and Aragorn looked up, Harry's heart thumping. It had to be, it had to be . . . "Hedwig!"

And there was his beautiful snowy owl, wings beating furiously against the high wind, no more than several dozen metres away. Harry cursed the Golden Hall for being situation on a high outcropping and in the middle of bloody nowhere. Hedwig was struggling against the force of the alternating wind pressure, but looking determined. Heads swivelled up as she gave another joyful cry and flew over Meduseld, descending, and — too tired to even try to perch herself on Harry's shoulder — struck him ungracefully in the chest, his arms immediately enfolding her so that she wouldn't flop on the ground.

"Hedwig," Harry whispered, the absurd lump in his throat finally subsiding.

Hedwig gave a weary hoot and lifted her leg. There was parchment clutched in her talons and Aragorn immediately pried it out and unrolled it. By now the rest of the Fellowship had congregated by the doors and were looking on anxiously; the sight of Hedwig having an adverse affect. There may yet be something wrong with Frodo and Sam.

"What does it say?" Gandalf demanded, situating himself between Harry and Aragorn, his staff almost smacking Harry in the head.

He frowned. "Let's just all go inside; I have to take care of Hedwig."

This suggestion was approved by all, except an impatient looking Gandalf, and only once they were seated about the king's long breakfast table did Aragorn read the letter: the hobbits, at least, seemed to be healthy by their account, if not a little despondent, but that was only to be expected.

". . . And down the bottom, written in what looks to be mud if I am not mistaken —" Gandalf peered closely and nodded "— it says: '_Near Minas Morgul now, according to Gollum. Lost pack. Please send more food.'"_

"Is that bad?" asked Merry, looking back and forth between Gandalf and Aragorn.

Gandalf snapped. "Are you deaf of hearing, Merry, of course it is bad! They have no food or water."

Merry flushed in embarrassment. "Only I meant if it was bad that they were near _Minas Morgul_ now." He looked very small and hunched over.

Gandalf sighed, obviously apologetic. "Forgive me, Merry. It is this whole business today of which I am still weary; nonetheless Frodo and Sam seem healthy, if hungry, and we shall immediately send Hedwig back to them —"

"No we won't," snapped Harry, looking up from feeding Hedwig; presently in his lap resting her head against one of his forearms. "She's tired and hungry and just flew who knows how many bloody miles—leagues, whatever!" They all stared at him, Gandalf with a sort of understanding frown. "I'm worried about Sam and Frodo, too, but I won't sacrifice my owl either. If I send her out now she'll fall from the sky out of exhaustion and then what will the hobbits have?"

There were mutterings of "quite right" "the lad speaks true," and "beg your pardon"; the latter by an apologetic Gandalf. "I thought too quickly and spoke too hastily," he said now, patting Harry on the shoulder in a grandfatherly way. "We shall wait until Hedwig rests before sending her back."

Harry nodded, grateful that they understood so that he didn't have to argue anymore.

The conversation then changed to what had happened early that morning, which Harry mostly tuned out of, preferring instead to take care of his owl. She was strong enough now to perch on his shoulder, and lovingly bumped her head against his when he gave her some owl treats.

"But at this time we have been strangely fortunate," said Gandalf, taking a sip of water. "I have been saved by this hobbit from a grave blunder. Many times had I considered whether or not to probe the Stone myself to find its uses. Had I done so I should have been revealed to Sauron. That would be . . . not good, to put it lightly. Alas that he has seen the Black Wizard!"

Harry's head shot up. Gandalf was staring at him. So was everyone.

"Harry told me nothing untoward occurred, except for the enemy appearing overly happy at finding him. This does not bode well, I think, and I am not sure what it means. He may perhaps want to capture Harry for some nefarious purpose; use him and his magic against us. He thinks we are still in Orthanc, and that is one good thing. For the moment all we can do is change our plan." He shrugged a little, turning to the king. "As I said we have been strangely fortunate with Pippin's blunder. We know now the enemy's plans and can move against him accordingly."

Theodan stared in silence, hand stroking his beard

Gandalf sighed. Irritably. "Sauron moves to strike the city of Minas Tirith. If the beacons of Gondor a lit, Rohan must be ready for war!"

At last, and after an awkward silence, the king spoke. "Tell me. Why should we ride to the aid of those who do not come to ours?" He looked at Boromir particularly pensively as he said this. Boromir clenched his fists but said nothing. "What do we owe Gondor?"

"I will go," said Aragorn and Boromir together.

"No, Aragorn," said Gandalf hurriedly, then whispered something in the man's ear.

The rest of breakfast was a sullen business for all except Hedwig, who was tucking into a dead mouse that Harry had conjured; with great relish, as it were, and there was many a pinched nose about the table. Indeed breakfast probably would have been entirely missed if it weren't for Gandalf announcing his, Boromir's, and Pippin's leaving and, after a moment's thought, Harry's.

"Why you ought to argue with me I have no idea," Gandalf was saying impatiently to Harry's questions a little later while loading up a couple of saddle-bags onto Shadowfax. "You shall be of much more use in my company than the king's, and not to mention your studies; neglected presently I am sure, and which none but I may help you with."

"I never said that, Gandalf," Harry said back, getting angry in turn; partly because of the studies remark (which wasn't true, but then Gandalf didn't know that yet), but mostly because Gandalf was way out of line. The wizard seemed more short-tempered than usual this morning, which Harry could only take to mean that he was still agitated over what had happened with the _palantir_ and Pippin. Not to mention all that came after. "I just asked why exactly I have to go with _you_, although now that you've told me in precise detail . . ." Harry trailed off, letting sarcasm enter his voice.

Gandalf sent him a side-long long, which was not entirely missed by the others who were hovering in nearby stalls, and threw a light blanket over Shadowfax's back. "Indeed, Harry, and so have you packed?"

"Everything's in my pocket," Harry sighed.

"I shall fetch your horse," Aragorn volunteered. Harry sent him a grateful look. He did not yet know how to saddle one.

Meanwhile, in one of the stalls, Pippin and Merry were arguing in low voices; which was to say, not very low.

"Don't you understand? The enemy thinks _you_ have the ring. He's going to be looking for you, Pip. They have to get you out of here."

"But then why are Harry and Boromir coming?" questioned Pippin.

"I expect Harry for the same reason as you," said Merry, sounding annoyed. "And that is your fault too, you know. If you hadn't looked . . . _why_ do you always have to look?"

"I do not know," said Pippin sullenly.

Merry tutted. "Well, I should think Boromir is going because that is his home. As luck would have it you had nothing to do with that . . . although, what with all your messes, I'm beginning to wonder."

"Yes, but I am not going now," Boromir injected, to the surprise of everyone. He had always expressed a desire to go back to Minas Tirith, even as far back as Rivendell.

Gandalf paused in his packing. "You do not wish to go, Boromir?"

"I find myself contended with Harry going in my stead. I shall be of more use here as a representative of Gondor, especially with Theodan and his misgivings barring our way. And it is not as though we shall not meet up with you later. The black ships call upon the wide river."

Harry blinked.

"I feel my city much safer with two wizards in it," Boromir smiled, again shocking both Harry and Gandalf. "If Lord Denethor ought protest to my lack of presence tell him I shall be along shortly, which is the truth besides."

"Your father . . ." Gandalf began, then changed his mind. "As you will," he said.

Nothing more was said. Harry slung a leg over his war horse (managing to do it himself this time but only because he'd climbed on a stall beforehand), plucked Hedwig gently off of his shoulder and bundled her in his lap. She was still too exhausted to go long distance flying yet. Harry would send her away a day from now when Gandalf wrote the letter. In the meantime she would be riding with him on Hammrod.

He hoped she liked horses.

Judging by the haughty glare she was throwing at Hammrod's back, probably not. Harry had nearly forgotten how jealous and territorial Hedwig became if he were to pet other owls or animals. Likely she thought Harry had gotten a new pet. Hammrod wasn't really his, though. Harry was just borrowing him until he transported himself back to Earth and got his broom. Speaking of which he would have to do that soon; preferably when they arrived at Minas Tirith.

"Of all the inquisitive hobbits, Peregrin Took, you are the worst!" Gandalf hoisted Pippin onto Shadowfax; awkwardly, it would seem, as the hobbit let out a very small yelp. The wizard sat in place behind him.

Legolas walked up to Hammrod and whispered something into the horse's ear, then smiled up at Harry. "May Elbereth protect you, young one." His voice rose, full of majesty. "May Elbereth watch over all of you!"

"Thank you, Legolas," said Gandalf. "I am certain we shall need it," which was, perhaps, not the most rousing statement he could have made in the circumstances. Especially not with an already terrified hobbit in earshot.

"Gandalf, how long until we reach Minas Tirith?" asked Pippin.

"Three days as the Nazgul flies. And you better hope we don't have one of those on our tails!"

A few more farewells and gifts later and they were off, cantering out of the stables, down the slope of Meduseld and out the front gate. A sharp jolt overcame Harry then, as he realised that he may never see his friends again after this. A cheerful start to a perilous journey, he thought sardonically, and tightened an arm about Hedwig.

xxxxxx

They made camp by the River Isen very early the next morning, the horses exhausted, Hammrod even more so. Shadowfax stood grazing pleasantly in the moonlight, his flickering tail glowing molten silver.

_A horse elf,_ was Harry's brief, fanciful thought before he shook his head. Shadowfax was special, there was no doubt about it, but he was no elf.

A couple of feet away Gandalf and Pippin were engaging in a low and intense conversation — or what could be termed an intense conversation between one very wise wizard and one senseless hobbit.

Harry himself now stood (his bottom and thighs aching painfully), stroking Hedwig gently down her wing. He limped a few metres into the dark to give them some privacy. Hedwig was well fed and rested now, having slept in his lap for the better part of the day, but he was loath to see her go. "Hey girl, you're going to have to go back to Frodo and Sam. All right? They need you more than me."

Hedwig hooted sadly and nipped him on the nose.

Harry reached into his robe pocket and pulled out the short sack which was filled with months' worth of food and drink, and tied it to Hedwig's leg. There was also a note in it, but Harry couldn't read it. "Make sure you don't loose that."

Hedwig glared at him, and if the parting nip on his ear was a little sharp, Harry didn't hold it against her. He watched her flap gracefully into the night, moonlight glinting off of her snowy feathers until they seemed made of gossamer.

_Owl elf,_ thought Harry, and smiled to himself.

His pallet looked welcoming in the firelight and Harry sat on it. Then immediately stood back up, having poked himself with the Horn of Gondor — a parting gift from Boromir that Harry was to give to Lord Denethor. The horn presently offside, Harry dug through his knapsack and found his textbook. It wouldn't hurt to read a little. He had already told Gandalf of his achievement, and the wizard, after congratulating him, had immediately pushed Harry to more study. Harry had moved on from not thinking to concentrating and from concentrating to thinking about his Animagus form; the firelight a not very good conducive to page-turning, but warm nonetheless.

Moments later an irritated grunt drew his attention from a brief passage about animal instincts.

" . . . know, Peregrin Took. It is of no use apologising, I have heard enough off it to realise you do not know what you say, and therefore do not mean it! Go! Be gone with you, I have no more patience this morn."

Hurt, shocked, Pippin sighed unhappily and retreated to his pallet across the fire, where he curled up under his blanket looking very small and morose. Harry quickly pretended to read his book when Gandalf looked sharply at him; as though Harry had been entertaining notions of recalcitrance, too.

They slept.

They left the next morning at day break a few hours later, the dawning light very bright and beautiful in the clear sky. He had no earthly clue just where they were, and was a bit hesitant about asking Gandalf. The wizard still hadn't gotten over his crabbiness. Just that morning he had snapped at Pippin for dropping a twig too loudly.

The next few days past in uneasy accord. Something large and winged flapped over their heads one night, luckily after they'd extinguished the fire, and Gandalf hurriedly shushed them. "We ought not make any noise now. Be as quiet as possible."

"Was that a Nazgul, Gandalf?" Pippin asked, terrified. He'd huddled himself beneath Gandalf's cloak and was pressed tightly up against his side. The wizard patted him on the head.

"Most likely," he said, giving the hobbit a small, comforting smile.

Pippin whimpered.

"We should be good to go now," said Gandalf a little while later. "Harry, is there some sort of spell you can use to cloak your horse's footsteps? Shadowfax has no need of one and I shall not take any chances now that we are so close."

Harry put a silencing charm over Hammrod's hooves and asked, "Where are we, Gandalf?"

"In the realm of Gondor," the wizard answered. "The land of Anorien is still passing by. Now let us be off."

They rode heavy and long into the night, twilight threatening to burst the edge of the horizon. Harry was almost asleep when they came upon a group of cloaked men hiding in the mist, huddled down everywhere in front of a white stone wall with packs, torches, and little tables. Meat roasted over small coal pits glowing red and orange, and his stomach, having had nothing for half a night, grumbled pleasantly. These men were quite obviously friendly as Gandalf knew them by name; even scolding them on occasion.

Harry observed all this from under the brim of his hat, wondering just what they were about, lying here in the gloom. Likely they were some sort of scouting party. He would even go so far as to think they were a hunting party. _But what are they hunting_? Orcs sprang to mind.

". . . you know the pass-words of the Seven Gates and are free to go forward," the leader of the men was saying, his face heavily shadowed by a long hood. "But we do not know your companions. What are they? What is the little one? A dwarf out of the mountains in the North? What is the big one? A man or an elf? We know you travel with odd companions, Mithrandir. We wish for no strangers in the land at this time, unless they be mighty men of arms in whose faith and help we can trust."

"I will vouch for them before the seat of Denethor, Ingold" said Gandalf, Shadowfax stamping a little below him. The men whispered amongst themselves. Obviously this was some great honour. "Sitting before me is Peregrin, of the Shire. The one beside me is Harry of, er . . ."

"Hogwarts," grunted Harry.

"Harry of Hogwarts," Gandalf continued as though he hadn't stuttered. "Very valiant men, both of them."

"Man?" Pippin burst out, surprising everyone. They'd thought he'd been asleep. "I am no man, but a hobbit."

"But what is a hobbit?" asked a gruff voice somewhere in back.

"A Halfling," Gandalf answered. "Nay, not the one that was spoken of," he added, seeing the wonder cross the men's faces. "And now that you know, may we please go onward?"

"Hold, Mithrandir," said Ingold, placing a hand on Shadowfax, who snapped at it. He hastily backed away. "I have no knowledge of this Hog Warts. Is it somewhere in the South?"

"I should say it is nowhere," said Gandalf vaguely. "Tis a magical place, one only where wizards may tread. Yes, he is the one whose magic destroyed the Uruk army," Gandalf added, after hearing the many gasps.

Harry almost gasped as well. _How do they know? _Come to think of it, how did they know about Frodo?

"And now that you know my companions mean you no harm, indeed are in fact the very opposite, we shall now go on. We haven't time to linger."

They weren't stopped this time. Ingold even called out "Farewell!" in a cheerful voice as they passed through the narrow gate at the wall.

Harry didn't waste a second once they were out of earshot. "How do they know about me, sir?"

Gandalf seemed amused that Harry would ask such a thing. "How do you think? Gossip and rumours abound everywhere, and especially in these suspicious times we need all the hope we can get."

"Are you trying to say they found out about me through word of mouth?" asked Harry, incredulous. "It's only been a week since the battle at Helm's Deep!"

"And how long did it take us to get here?" said Gandalf.

Harry still found it hard to believe.

"Where are we now, Gandalf?" asked Pippin.

"Ithillien," the wizard answered. "It runs for more than ten leagues from the mountain's foot and follows the river, enclosing in its fence the fields of Pelennor, which is where we are going now. Then onto the main gates and the seven tiers of Minas Tirith."

They rode for a little through Ithillien, taking the shortest rode to the Pelennor. When they stepped through yet another gate Harry saw for the first time Minas Tirith. The city reminded him strongly of Hogwarts. Not for the way it looked, but because of its presence. Minas Tirith was purely offset white, gleaming in the morning sun and a hundred times bigger than Helm's Deep. It really sort of looked like an elaborate cake with a knife blade stuck in the middle. Harry had never thought anything could ever come close to the majesty of Hogwarts: Minas Tirith almost topped it.

"Wow."

"Indeed," smiled Gandalf.

"Wow," attempted Pippin.

Gandalf frowned at him good-naturedly.

xxxxx


	22. See Here The Animal

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling. The Lord of the Rings belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien. I do not own anything. I am making no profit whatsoever in writing this story. This is an amateur attempt.

A/N: I'd like to thank everyone that took the time to review, and also to clear up some questions. Three separate people have now asked me "what happened to Hedwig" and "did she really get killed" and "who's the other white owl". This is the answer: Gollum was psychotically dreaming/fantasising at the end of chapter nineteen. I hope that's all cleared up now.

Also, can I please remind some of my anonymous reviewers not to ask me questions in a review and then expect me to answer them when you haven't given me any contact details? I don't like answering questions in my author's notes unless I absolutely have to (see above).

I'll also take the time to say something about chapter seventeen. Ahem . . . there is going to be no romance in this story (as I keep reminding everyone). Please don't keep begging me not to make it Harry/Ginny. This is _not_ a romance story. I deliberately made it like that so everyone can enjoy it. I put that little hint in chapter seventeen only as a sort of nod to cannon.

Thank you.

A/N2: Once again I have borrowed quotes from both the book and the film for this chapter. I don't own them. My brain will never be able to think up something so grand. I am a mere insect in Tolkien's legendary shadow. You'll easily be able to recognise them, I think.

Hope you enjoy.

xxxxx

**Chapter Twenty-Two: See Here The Animal. **

Most of these people had hardly seen horses, Gandalf had explained as they trotted up the roads of Minas Tirith, which was why they stared in astonishment. Horses could not survive particularly well in cold stone, and only the cavalry (of which there wasn't a lot) and on occasion the steward (who never ventured out much anyway) were permitted to ride them. Of course it also could have been because of Shadowfax, who seemed to glow becomingly even in daylight.

What surprised Harry, though did not know why, was the decided lack of people. Surely a city _this_ large would host twice as many, if not more? What had happened to all of them? Harry was a bit disappointed, also, that Minas Tirith was not as majestic up close as it had been from far away. This wasn't to say that it still wasn't beautiful — it was, more than any building Harry had seen in Middle Earth thus far. But everywhere there was evidence of decay and erosion; the white stone turned grey in some places. In certain spots, mostly along the centre, the cobbled streets had been sanded smooth from years of trampling. Cottage doors seemed older than their owners and the hinges rusted over. Occasionally there would be half a word or less carved into the door, and even this was sanded down, perhaps by hundreds of years of knocking.

People pottered here and there, going about daily business with a droop in their step. They looked away from Harry, Gandalf, and Pippin as if the trio had murdered someone. It was as though Harry had entered a particularly elaborate zombie graveyard. Everyone seemed constantly miserable and suspicious. Harry, who had been looking forward to visiting Minas Tirith ever since he had seen it shining in the morning sun, was more than a little disappointed, but he still wasn't going to ask Gandalf to tell him why everything was as it was. The war, Harry supposed, was part of the answer. But the Rohirrim were at war as well and they hadn't acted this miserable and downtrodden — as if something were slowly seeping the life out of them but, in order to survive, they had to continue existing miserably day by day.

_No hope_, Harry realised as he looked around himself. _They have no hope._

"You see it, too," Gandalf told him knowingly, keeping his voice low.

"Yes." Harry tightened his hands on Hammrod's reins and shook his shoulders. He felt suddenly uneasy.

"Gondor has been at war with the East for quite some time now," Gandalf explained, looking about with furrowed brows. "These people have all seen loved ones die, and now it becomes worse with Sauron amassing his forces. They know what is coming. They do not need a _palantir_ to see."

Harry bit his lip, not quite sure he understood. "But we still came here to warn them?" he queried.

"We came because their steward remains ignorant, and by his own choice. The fool." Gandalf's mouth turned down and his eyes became hard, something Harry was not used to seeing on the normally jovial wizard, even when he was grumpy. "I am certain we can convince him to ask for aid." Gandalf seemed to reconsider. "Well, fairly certain. Denethor is not an evil man, but his greed could be his undoing. Fortunately, there is one thing in life he values above all else and that is his sons. It will do him good to hear from Boromir."

Harry suspected it would also make him easier to be manipulated or convinced, but did not say so to Gandalf.

They continued on in the almost silent city; people whispered as they past but for once it wasn't because of Harry and he, it had to be said, was grateful for that. Morbid though the feeling was. Not, if he thought about it, that they _weren't_ talking about him. It was just that they were talking about Gandalf and Pippin, too. Or rather, they were talking about all three of them as a group. It hit Harry then just how odd they must look. If he were one of these muggles seeing two wizards wear such contrasting colours — one riding an 'elf' horse with a hobbit on his lap — would certainly be enough to make him distrustful. Especially, as Gandalf had said, in these suspicious times.

But then, Gandalf had also said earlier that Minas Tirith knew him, was familiar with him, and that he had been visiting the city for a _long_ time now and was probably mentioned somewhere in the deepest part of their library where they stored the oldest archives.

_Maybe that's why they stare? Because they know Gandalf's an ancient wizard._

The thought cheered him. It occurred to Harry that Gandalf himself must have been subject to either suspicious scrutiny or over-whelming awe over the years, just by being who is was. Harry looked over at him, observed the stern brows (but he knew that was just Gandalf's "thinking face"), the straight back, the protective arm he'd circled around an almost dozing Pippin . . . Harry smiled. He and Gandalf shared more in common than he had thought.

At last they came to the top and out of the shadow (both literally and mentally), dismounted, and waited for the guards to take away their horses, which weren't allowed in the citadel. Shadowfax stamped a little in protest as a foreign hand tugged gently at his mane to lead him away, but quietened down when Gandalf whispered something into his ear.

It was clear to Harry, as he, Gandalf, and Pippin walked on to the citadel, that this part of Minas Tirith at least was clean, well looked after, and beautiful. The sun shone upon the white stone, almost blinding them, but luckily the two wizards wore hats with wide brims. Not so Pippin; but he drew his hood up anyway, hiding under what little comfort it could offer him from the heat.

They walked onward, Harry curiously eyeing the four guards positioned around the courtyard. Their black robes and heavily helmeted heads seemed odd among the stone surroundings, as if they didn't quite fit in.

It was as they past a dead tree in the middle of the courtyard that Pippin drew to halt. Harry, still too busy looking at the guards, almost bumped into him.

"It's the tree," he whispered, as Harry steadied him. Then he rushed ahead to their companion. "Gandalf! Gandalf!"

"Yes, the white tree of Gondor" said the wizard, not stopping to look as Pippin and Harry caught up to him. "The tree of the King."

He didn't speak again until they arrived at a set of grand high doors; silver steel encompassed most of the surface area, glinting in the heat. He took a moment to tuck his staff under his arm and remove his hat. Seeing this, Harry did the same, stuffing it under his robes. "Denethor, however, is not the King," Gandalf continued. "Be careful of your words, Master Peregrin and Master Harry! Theoden is a kindly old man; as kindly as old Kings can be. Denethor is of another sort entirely, proud and subtle, a man of far greater lineage and power, though he is not called king. He is a steward only. A caretaker of the throne.

"Now, listen carefully." He looked at them both, though mostly at Pippin. "Lord Denethor is Boromir's father. When we show him the Horn of Gondor he should listen to us and light the beacons, thus alerting Rohan. I have hope that Boromir and Aragorn will have convinced Theoden enough so that he may ride to Gonodor's aid."

Despite Gandalf's almost unstinting belief, Harry had picked up on something. "_Should_?"

Gandalf's eyes stuttered. "Indeed, Harry. No matter how many times I try to hope, Denethor is still —

"A loose canon," Harry finished, nodding. Then noticed the stares.

"I know not your meaning," Gandalf said, frowning a little. "But I can guess at it. Yes, Denethor very much is a 'loose canon', and we would not want him to get any looser. Therefore — Pippin!"

Pippin started, looking guilty even though he hadn't done anything, the wizard's lecturing tone an all too familiar sound. "You shall not mention Frodo." Gandalf considered. "Or the Ring." He considered some more. "And say nothing of Aragorn either."

Pippin nodded to everything.

"In fact," said Gandalf, looking down at the hobbit with a mixture between impatience and seriousness. "It is better if you don't speak at all, Peregrin Took."

Harry coughed to cover up his snort.

"In fact," Gandalf continued, raising his voice slightly, "it is better if _you_ say nothing also, Harry Potter. Denethor would have heard of you, as you no doubt have already guessed. He is a man of ambition and greed and may try to confuse you into revealing something. You ought not speak unless I give you means."

Harry nodded, properly chastised.

Then Pippin, who had been going over what Gandalf had told him as much as a small hobbit with not very much experience of the world could, piped up, "But why should I not say anything about Strider, Gandalf? He meant to come here, didn't he? And he'll be arriving soon himself, anyway."

The wizard looked incredulous. "Have you no idea who Aragorn is, Pippin?"

"Well yes, is he not the Kin_phmgh_ —" Gandalf's hand slapped over Pippin's small face before the hobbit could the finish the sentence.

"Quiet!" he whispered furiously, looking about. "With your mouth every place but the Shire can hear." He removed his hand, looking stern. "If Aragorn comes, it is likely to be in some way that no one expects, not even Denethor. It is better so. At least he should come unheralded by us."

"The steward would be jealous," Harry observed quietly.

"More than that, I'm afraid. If he hears of Aragorn at all . . . If he is to sniff out some clue of Aragorn's identity at all, than woe betide to us. It will make our work much harder." Gandalf looked grim as he rested a hand against Pippin's back and pushed the hobbit forward.

The doors swung open.

It was as though Harry had entered a particularly sterile museum. All around them as they strode up the hall were marble statues of old kings. These were fenced by great black marble pillars that rose to the roof — the better to hold the citadel upright he would assume. White and black marble floors (with a tinge of silvery green) gleamed with a newly polished look. Sunlight shone down in diagonal lines through great square windows near the ceiling, illuminating everything so that it seemed even more sterile. The throne room was a large cold sort of pretty that Harry had never been much fond of, preferring instead the warmth of yellow-brown stone in the Hogwarts' Great Hall with its many floating candles.

He could imagine Draco Malfoy's house to be made of something similar. Harry had never liked to advertise his money, and seeing other people do it (even if they were caretakers of the greatest throne in the world) still made him slightly uncomfortable. Humble, was the word, and Harry did not like that. He imagined Gandalf did not like it either. Although, the old wizard was not one to let it irk him.

They halted, finally, in front of a steep dais with many steps. Sitting on top of the dais was an empty black throne; the painting of a white tree very visible on the wall it rested against. But what was positioned beneath the dais appeared more interesting. An old man sat in a white throne-like chair, hunching over. His long grey hair obscured most of his face and he seemed, upon first glance, to be sleeping. But really he was staring at the floor below him in a kind of detached manner.

Gandalf lifted his staff, grimaced in what was clearly supposed to be a smile, and spoke in a voice that echoed in the vast hall. "Hail, Lord and Steward of Minas Tirith, Denethor Son of Ecthelion!"

The old man did nothing expect stare at the ground and wheeze.

Gandalf became even sterner, if such a thing were possible. "I come with counsel and tidings in this dark hour," he tried.

The old man finally raised his head, and Harry saw that his face was withered, cold, and so hard that it seemed carved like the statues that surrounded him. "Dark indeed is the hour," he intoned in a deep voice. His cold eyes flitted from Gandalf to Pippin to Harry, where they stopped.

Harry stared back until Gandalf nudged him sharply with the tail-end of his staff.

"Dark, yes," Gandalf said, "and we would not want it any darker. War is coming . . . the enemy is on your doorstep. As Steward, you are charged with the defence of this city. Where are Gondor's armies?

"You still have friends," Gandalf continued a little more quietly when the Steward made no response. "You are not alone in this fight. Send word to Theoden of Rohan. Light the beacons."

Denethor, who had still been staring at Harry, drifted his gaze back to Gandalf. "You think you are wise, Mithrandir, yet for all your subtleties you have not wisdom." His lip curled. "Do you think the eyes of the White Tower are blind?! I have seen more than you know. With your left hand you would use me as a shield against Mordor, and with your right you would seek to supplant me!"

Gandalf drew back at that, looking stunned, but then his eyes narrowed. "Eyes of the White Tower? What have you seen, Lord Steward, that you were not meant to see?"

It was Denethor that drew back this time, but his conviction gave him courage and so he pressed on. "Seen? I have seen more than enough, Mithrandir. I know who rides with Theoden of Rohan." Here he paused and glared contemptuously. "Word had reached my ears of this Aragorn, son of Arathorn." He spat the names out as if he had eaten something disgusting. "Word has reached me that my _own_ son rides with him! Betrayal of his country and his city, and betrayal of his Lord and Father. Well I tell you now, I will not bow to this Ranger from the North — last of a ragged house, long bereft of Lordship. I will not bow to the one who took my son from me!"

"Changing of loyalties!" Gandalf spat, now looking less like an old man and more like an angry, powerful wizard. The steward seemed to realise this also as he eyes widened. "Only you, Denethor, would think this. We, all of us, fight for one cause, my _Lord_, and I am sorry to have to tell you that Boromir is a far greater and nobler man than you can ever hope to be, as is the one who rides with him. Authority is not given to you to deny the return of the King — Steward!"

Pippin jumped back onto Harry's foot as Denethor stood from his chair. "The rule of Gondor is mine, and no others!" he shouted.

"Fool!" Gandalf shouted right back, his staff banging on the marble floor. "If you had half the sense Boromir has you would see reason!"

"I have more than enough reason, and less desire to listen to you, wizard! Give me that horn, if you please," he said suddenly to Harry. "My son shall have no more use for it."

Harry looked at Gandalf for confirmation.

The wizard, still breathing hard from his outburst, nodded slightly.

Harry unhooked the horn from his belt, and was about to levitate it over when Gandalf stopped him. "Give it to Pippin," he whispered.

Pippin, hearing this, hesitantly accepted the horn. His steps seemed reluctant and small as he walked to Denethor and handed it over. Denethor was curious enough about Pippin to ask him who he was, possibly recognising the hobbit's lack of authority and not being intimidated by him, which had probably been Gandalf's plan all along.

"Peregrin Took," Pippin answered, staring uncomfortably up at Denethor.

Denethor nodded coldly. "A Halfling."

"He is," said Gandalf just as coldly, drawing Denethor's attention. "One of the twain. Yet this is not he of whom the omens speak."

"Yet a Halfling still," said Denethor grimly, "and little love do I bear the name, since those accursed words came to trouble our counsels and drew away my son on the wild errand which led to his betrayal! _My Boromir! _Faramir should have gone in his stead."

Gandalf harrumphed impatiently. "He would have gone, if Boromir had not wanted to. Boromir has and will continue to choose his own way, and that way need not be bad." Gandalf was obviously trying once more to persuade Denethor, though Harry thought he would have better luck persuading Sauron to give up the war and live in peace. "Indeed your son is one of the bravest men I know. He protected Pippin and Merry from many orcs, and would have died had it not been for Harry here."

Imperceptibly, Denethor stiffened at hearing that. Harry, though he tried not to, felt pity for the man. It was obvious to anyone with eyes that he still loved his son; he was just being stupid and stubborn, the power having gone to his head. Harry was reminded instantly of Cornelius Fudge, the former Minister for Magic, who'd resigned not a couple of weeks ago. The resemblance to the situation between Fudge and Dumbledore at the end of his Fourth year to what was happening now did not escape Harry. Confounded him, in fact. He half expected Gandalf to draw himself up and shout, "You are blinded, Denethor, by the love of the office you hold!"

"Died?" Denethor whispered, staring at Harry. "Tell me how?"

Harry blinked, but it was Pippin who answered. The hobbit outlined everything precisely and seriously, not at all sounding like his usual self. When he came to the part of Boromir being struck by orc arrows Denethor half-gasped under his breath in a sort of sob that, had they not been listening as closely as they did, they would have missed entirely. Pippin then knelt and offered his service to the Steward.

"In payment of my debt, what little I can do," he said. "Boromir saved my life as I hope one day to save his, should it need saving."

Denethor was most impressed by this, it seemed, and smiled oddly at the kneeling Pippin.

Gandalf, however, tutted and poked the hobbit with his staff. "Get up," he said, and Pippin scrambled out of the way. But before Gandalf could open his mouth to say anything Denethor raised his hand and said, "But you have not told me the rest of the tale."

"I don't know what happens next, as Merry and me were carried away," said Pippin, looking apologetic. "Perhaps Harry could better explain?"

"Harry?" Denethor glanced at him again in that odd, cold stare. "An odd name for a wizard, yet the wind speaks of your feat and carries it across the lands. A mighty deed was done that day at Helm's Deep, and it tells me you were the one that did it. The Uruk-hai all slain by your magic. Is this true?"

"It is," said Harry.

"And it was this same magic that saved my son?"

Harry really did not want to get locked up. And he was sure Denethor would try if he admitted to using dark magic. "Not exactly . . . it was a different spell," he settled on.

Denethor sat in silence for so long that the Harry became uncomfortable. "To think," he said at last, "that Boromir was saved by common wizard tricks." He sneered. "I have never put much stock in wizard tricks. You have done a service for Gondor in saving one of her great sons, such as he was, and I can only offer you a seat at my table in gratitude."

Harry's fists tightened under his sleeves. _If he expects me to accept his offer now, having said it like that . . . _He was surprised to find out, after listening to Denethor blather on, that he admired Boromir greatly. To hear him slandered by his own father in such a way (as though he were a common enemy!) just put things into perspective. Boromir deserved none of it! "Thank you," said Harry. He tried so hard to ease the annoyance out of his tone that he forgot to stifle the anger, "but no. I don't think I will."

Denethor shrugged half-heartedly. "That is your affair."

"Come," Gandalf snapped, unable to stand Denethor any longer.

They followed gratefully without a word.

xxxxx

The talk in their room later elicited some not very pleasant comments from Gandalf, and one especially nasty one that made Harry and Pippin look at him with shock on their faces. When Gandalf saw this he apologised immediately, but he was still grumbling under his breath when Harry emerged from his bath and onto the balcony a while later. He and Pippin were watching Mount Doom, Gandalf with a cloud of foul-smelling smoke lingering about his head, which only got thicker the more he exhaled.

"Would you put that out?" Harry asked irately, and tried to fan away the cloud, with no success.

Gandalf had seen Harry's crinkled nose and began laughing. This quickly turned into a hacking cough that Pippin had to help squelch by getting the wizard a goblet of water from the pitcher on the small dinning table.

"It's really high up here," Harry observed as he hoisted himself onto the wide stone gate and peered down. He gasped when Gandalf grabbed him around the middle and dumped him back in the safety of the balcony.

"High indeed," he grumped. "A thousand feet above the fields of Pelennor the great citadel reaches, and you risk such a death through utter foolishness?"

"Hang on – I've been up higher before on my broom!" Harry said indignantly.

Faint spots of red appeared on both of Gandalf's cheekbones. "Be that as it may, you shall not do it again unless you have your broom with you!"

"Were you worried about me?" Harry guessed suddenly. The thought pleased him.

Gandalf grumbled and sputtered and soon drew from his pipe to avoid speaking.

Harry laughed silently with Pippin as all three turned to watch the East. "While we're on the subject of brooms, I'm going to have to go back and get mine. Preferably now."

The cool breeze played with his hair as he waited for Gandalf's approval. "Of course you must, if you feel that is what you need to do," was all the wizard said.

Harry did just that.

xxxxxxx

He dreamed.

He soared with wind under his wings as he flew over the Burrow, through Ron's window, and onto the bed.

He woke with a jerk.

Harry glanced at the clock above Ron's wall out of habit, despite knowing it would show him the exact same time as when he'd last looked. Ron was, predictably, snoring in the bed opposite, and Harry's broom lay in exactly the place he'd left it: up against his side, next to the wall. Harry let it lay there. He wasn't tired enough to go to sleep again and materialise in Minas Tirith, so he ventured to the kitchen for some hot chocolate. He was also pleased to note, as he snuck carefully down the creaking stairs, that he'd managed to bring along all his clothing this time.

Harry messed around the cupboards remembering, with frustration, that he could not use magic. He resorted instead to finding the cups manually, waiting ages for the milk to boil, not to mention spending ten minutes figuring out how to turn the Eru-hated stove on in the first place — surely there was some sort of powder or something that you flung on it; similar to Floo powder perhaps. He would not believe Mrs Weasley did _all_ the cooking. Surely the underage Weasley children became hungry sometimes and made their own food when Mrs Weasley couldn't.

Eventually he found a protruding button near the stove's surface and pressed it. It immediately turned hot (the stove, not the button). When his milk boiled Harry found some chocolate powder and mixed it in, sitting down by the table with a grateful sigh.

Sipping carefully now and then, he pondered at what he had just experienced.

He had actually _dreamed_ of his journey here, to Earth. Even more than that: he had awoken straight away.

That had _certainly_ never happened before, and he wondered at the change in ritual.

He also wondered why he had dreamed of himself as a bird — at least, that was what Harry assumed he'd been. He had felt his wings flapping at any rate. It had actually been rather pleasant . . . and cold. And breezy in the oddest places.

It had been an odd sensation, though no less likeable, and Harry found he was itching to experience it again. This could be nothing more than his love of flying taking over, of course — he had, after all, come back to Earth for his broom — but Harry wondered if it was more than that.

A creak on a floorboard brought his gaze up.

Hermione stood in the entrance. She was wearing a fluffy pink dressing gown and slippers and her hair, which Harry could only assume had been tied in a knot before she'd gone to bed, was now all over the place, as though she'd been electrified recently. Her enormous ginger cat, Crookshanks, lay sleeping in her arms.

"Harry," she blinked. "I thought you'd gone — oh, you're back. This is really odd, you know."

Harry smiled at her as she sat beside him. "Yeah, I know," he said. "Why d'you come down?"

"I'm a light sleeper and you, Harry Potter, don't know how to be quiet," said Hermione flatly. Harry avoided her eyes. "How long were you gone this time? Are you staying for good now?"

"About a week, and no. I just came back to get my broom."

"You hadn't managed to take it with you, then," said Hermione, nodding. "I actually hadn't thought you'd be able to, you know."

Harry leaned forward at this. "But then why didn't you say anything before I left?" he asked.

"Well there was really no point if it all turns out the same in the end," she said, turning her head slightly and staring down at the table. "You certainly lost no hair over it."

"But how did you know I wouldn't be able to take my Nimbus?" Harry asked, bewildered.

"Brooms require a lot of spells to stay afloat, Harry." Her expression became that familiar one; the one where Hermione imparted her vast knowledge upon those less deserving of it. "That's a lot of magic in just that one object. With you thinking about all the other things you had to bring, it was inevitable that you'd leave your broom behind," said Hermione simply.

"Oh." _Why are we talking about this? It's pointless. _"I'd ask you how you've been, but then I've only been gone a second," said Harry, sipping a little more. He looked down into his cup, realising it had been rude of him not to offer Hermione some milk. "Would you like one?"

"My parents are dentists, Harry."

"I've seen you eat sweets before."

"I've had my weekly intake two days ago."

Hermione had a weekly intake? Or was she just joking with him? Harry mentally shook his brain. "I'd hate to have a weekly intake. Just the other day I had such a massive craving for a Chocolate Frog and there wasn't one around. I wish I knew the spell to conjure one."

Hermione blinked, looking startled. "You can't conjure Chocolate Frogs, Harry. You can't conjure any food, as a matter of fact. Food is one of the five exceptions to Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration."

Harry could only stare at that influx of information. It seemed too early in the morning for that sort of knowledge. But still, what Hermione had just said was not possible, surely. Harry had seen proof with his own eyes. "Well this Gamp bloke must have gotten a bit confused because Dumbledore conjured a cooked chicken and a bottle of pumpkin juice for us both once," he said.

Hermione bit her lip. "That's just not possible, Harry. I mean, I know Dumbledore's really powerful, but even he —"

"You think I'm lying?"

"No!" said Hermione hastily. "I mean, Dumbledore could have conjured it from somewhere else. You know, Apparated it to himself. Only really powerful wizards can do that."

"I doubt he would have been able to do it across dimensions, though."

Hermione glanced at him, eyes blinking. "It happened in Middle Earth?"

"Yes."

She slumped forward. "Well I don't know, then. I don't know how he could have done it. Unless . . . oh." Her eyes widened and she started breathing very hard. This was Hermione on the verge of having discovered something. "It _is_ possible to conjure or transfigure animals," she said very fast. "Do you remember McGonagall in first year, how she transfigured her desk into a pig? Dumbledore must have conjured a chicken, killed it, plucked it, and roasted it with magic, all in the space of less than a second. The same theory can apply to the pumpkin juice. He just conjured a pumpkin. Unbelievable." Hermione was clearly in awe.

"He is Dumbledore," Harry thought it prudent to point out.

"Well, yes," said Hermione, her cheeks pink. "How have you been, Harry?"

Hermione had changed the subject so fast that it was obvious she'd done so. "I didn't die."

She frowned, bit her lip, and stared down so quickly that Harry was certain she'd got a crick in her neck. "Please don't joke about that," she said quietly.

Harry was stunned._ Is she . . . crying?_ Merlin, he hoped not. He'd never been comfortable around girls that cried, and that it was Hermione now crying made him even less comfortable. Why couldn't it have been Ron who had woken up and joined him in the kitchen? The thought was so unsolicited that Harry felt an instant bout of shame. "I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry too," she sniffed. "I'm getting silly; I just can't bear the thought of you in that place alone."

"But I'm not alone." Harry tried to be gentle with his tact, but wasn't sure if Hermione appreciated it. "I have Gandalf and Pippin with me now."

"At least he's a wizard, although I'm not sure who the other one is. Is he one of those hobbits?"

Harry nodded.

"Well he's not going to be much help, is he?" Hermione said a little sharply, then looked contrite. "I'm sorry, Harry. That was uncalled for."

"It's all right." _I know you're just worried about me._ He thought the words but didn't say them. That would be too odd. It was at times like these Harry wished Hermione were a bloke.

Hermione played a little with Crookshanks's limp, bushy tail. She was clearly trying to think of something else to say. "How's the Animagus book coming along?"

As soon as Harry heard "Animagus" everything suddenly became clear. He smiled stupidly. "Great. It's really great. I even have somewhat of an idea as to my form."

Hermione stared at him. "Already!? Harry, that's wonderful. I never thought you'd be able to do it yourself, and so soon —" She stopped abruptly upon seeing Harry's face. "Well, what animal are you?" she asked quickly.

Harry stopped glaring enough to answer. "I'm not quite sure, but it's something that flies," he told her, not able to keep from beaming at the thought.

"I'm not surprised."

"Now that I think about it," said Harry thoughtfully, "neither am I." They sat in pleasant silence for the next few minutes, Harry finishing off his milk. He decided to test Hermione's disbelief a bit. She needed to loosen up anyway. "I've also mastered Occlumency."

Hermione stopped stroking Crookshanks to glare suspiciously at him. "Now you're just making stuff up."

"I am not," Harry grinned.

Her eyes narrowed. "Well . . . tell me how you know about your form."

"See that's the weird part," said Harry, resting his forearms on the table. "It was as I journeyed back to Earth. I saw myself flying over the Burrow and into Ron's room, and then I woke up. That's never happened to me before. I'd always used to blank out."

Hermione bit the side of her lip. "You told me you've mastered Occlumency. If that wasn't a lie —"

"Hey," Harry said.

"— then I'd imagine the two sort of interchanged. They're both states of mind, aren't they? It would be logical, after having first mastered Occlumency — which I assume you have — to then master your Animagus form."

"I suppose."

"Harry, how did you master Occlumency anyway, and in so short a time? You spent months training with Professor Snape and achieved nothing except headaches. What was so different this time?"

"I just thought about the pain," Harry said without thinking.

Hermione's lips became so pursed that Harry was reminded of his Aunt Petunia. "What pain?"

"Nothing you need to worry about."

"Harry —"

"I mean it, Hermione. It's over and done with." His tone was firm.

Hermione was not pleased at all.

In fact she was so displeased with him that she refused to talk to him at breakfast the next morning, prompting Ron to ask what the matter was.

"Ask Harry," was what Hermione said. Softly, so that only they could hear. "He's the one who's suffered _pain_."

Well that took care of any joy Harry could have had eating Mrs Weasley's large breakfast. He lost his appetite by the fourth time Ron tried to get him to tell. He had whispered at Harry, but so loudly that the rest of the room could hear perfectly.

"_Would. You. Shut. Up." _Harry whispered finally. "I'll tell you later."

Overprotective, that's what they were. But then, Harry was the same so he could not complain.

As they were finishing (Harry scrambling his scrambled eggs about even more), a majestic owl flew in through the window and landed next to his plate. It stuck its leg out imperiously, and once Harry had untied its letter, spread its wings and flew back out again.

Harry opened it.

Written on it were two words:

_He's awake._

"Dumbledore," he explained without anyone having to ask.

xxxxxx

A/N: Thought you should also know that I'm going back to England just after Christmas, to visit my Dad. I _will_ try to continue to update consistently. If I can't I'll let you know beforehand. I think I'll be okay, though. My cousin has a computer and I'll just filch it off him.


	23. Fawkes'd

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling. The Lord of the Rings belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien. I do not own anything. I am making no profit whatsoever in writing this story. This is an amateur attempt.

A/N: Thank you to all who reviewed. You have taken the time to do so and I'm grateful for each and every comment.

Enjoy.

xxxx

**Chapter Twenty Three: Fawkes'd**

Harry walked down the third floor corridor in a brisk pace, just on this side of running. He'd left the Burrow as soon as the babble had died down and the Weasleys had stopped asking him so many questions. Ron and Hermione had wanted to come with him, but Mrs Weasley had put her foot down. Somebody needed to de-gnome the garden, and since Fred and George were busy with their shop, the task was delegated to Ron, Hermione, and Ginny.

Harry still could not believe that Dumbledore was awake, and especially so soon. It seemed an odd sort of dream, and he couldn't wait to ask the headmaster what had happened. He just wished that Madam Pomfrey had been more explicit in her note. But then Harry supposed that if a Death Eater were to get hold of it, all he'd be able to suss out would be that somebody was awake: perhaps someone important, given the urgency and mysteriousness of the note, but certainly not Dumbledore.

He arrived now in front of the doors to the hospital wing; one side was slightly ajar and Harry paused before pushing it in. Dumbledore, sounding croaky and a little breathless, was talking to someone.

"— I have told you repeatedly that I cannot explain. It is indeed a miracle, and one which I am grateful for, though I am not sure I fully deserve."

"You mean you _won't_ explain," Snape's voice came low and dry. "I understand the anomaly, Headmaster, but surely you must have some idea —"

"I do, Severus," said Dumbledore gravely, "but I shall not tell you anything until I have spoken with someone else first. This story is not mine to tell. It would be a breach of trust."

There was silence for a bit, as though Snape was thinking a lot before having to speak. "So I am released, then? How magnanimous of you, Dumbledore."

Dumbledore coughed. "Now don't be like that."

"I shall be however I wish to be," said Snape tersely. "But what of Narcissa Malfoy? What should I tell her when she comes to _Spinner's End_? What of the Dark Lord's plan?"

Harry leaned forward, stomach swooping strangely.

"You shall not be going back to Spinner's End, Severus," said Dumbledore calmly.

"I shan't?" said Snape. He sounded mildly surprised.

"You will stay at Hogwarts and keep me company. As for Voldemort's plot . . . we shall continue on as though nothing had happened. I confess myself wanting a little respite from war and its many nuances. Having nearly died, I think I should be entitled to that much. No! Do not object. All shall pass as it should; nothing much would have changed. Voldemort will continue to do as he wants. Narcissa Malfoy, however, shall have to come to Hogwarts in order to contact you."

"You're so certain she shall?"

"Oh, very much so," said Dumbledore. "And we both know why. Now pass me some tea, please, and those biscuits."

China clinked and Harry heard the sound of pouring water.

"Thank you," said Dumbledore.

"Are you permitted to eat —"

"Poppy doesn't need to know," Dumbledore injected, sounding much more like his usual self.

"I'm sorry for your loss, Dumbledore," Snape said quietly, after a few minutes. "He was very . . . unique."

When Dumbledore's voice came it was slightly hoarse: "That he was, and quite a compliment coming from you. I will miss him, there is no help for that, but he isn't completely gone."

"No," said Snape, "but he may as well be." When next Snape spoke he sounded not at all like himself; almost reluctant. "Is it . . . how do you feel now?"

"Not any different."

"But surely you must."

"Must I?" said Dumbledore calmly, sipping a little. "Who says that I must?"

"I only meant," Snape began, then changed his mind. "Why shouldn't you? This has never happened before. In the history of the wizarding world, this has never happened before. If only you would tell me how —"

"I have told you, Severus, that I will _not_." Dumbledore's voice was stern. "Not until I have permission."

"This has something to do with Potter, hasn't it?" Snape snapped. Harry allowed himself a brief glimpse through the slit between the two doors, and saw that Snape's sallow face had turned a sickly off-white colour; his skin so pale that the blood rushing beneath could not show, even in extreme anger. He was standing at the foot of Dumbledore's hospital bed with his fists clenching and unclenching periodically. "It always has to do with Potter. Potter and his constant meddling. That arrogant boy is always behind —"

"Severus." Dumbledore's voice was quiet, but full of warning. Snape stopped his tirade immediately.

"It is only that the Dark Lord has been trying for so long," said Snape, "and here you are, having practically done nothing —"

"Severus," said Dumbledore again, tiredly. "There is a time and place for this discussion, but here and now is not it. Poppy will be returning soon, hopefully to announce my continued good health, and yes Mr Potter will be arriving as well."

"Potter," Snape sneered. "So I was correct."

"You doubted yourself?"

"One can never tell with you, Dumbledore."

Dumbledore took that as a compliment and said, "Thank you very much. Would you like a biscuit?"

"No, I would not," said Snape dully, large nostrils quivering.

"They really are rather wonderful," Dumbledore continued. The sound of munching filled the room. "They're muggle, you know."

"I remember," said Snape, softly.

There was silence for a short time, but it did not seem awkward. Occasionally Snape would pace a little before Dumbledore's bed, open his mouth to say something, then seemingly change his mind. "It is unprecedented," he said at last, voice full of awe; sounding misplaced coming from Snape's unsympathetic lips.

"I believe we have established that," said Dumbledore.

"And unbelievable," Snape added. "If I weren't looking at the proof before my very eyes . . ."

"At the cost of one of my friends, I find I don't much care," Dumbledore said, a little harshly.

This was enough to surprise Harry into tempting fate a bit more. He squeezed as much of himself as he could allow up against the door, and just barely saw Dumbledore lying propped on a fluff of pillows. He was staring down at the plain bedcovers looking so defeated — a look that Harry had never seen on his headmaster before.

"What if she were to . . . Earlier in the month we discussed that she might use another means to procure a certain desired result." Snape was plainly trying to change the subject, another shock. "What if she were to use it?"

"You and I both know that nothing will happen, even if you were to try it," said Dumbledore, sounding weary. "So it doesn't matter. It would cancel itself out."

"You're certain of that? Remember: it is my life on the line, Dumbledore."

"Certain? Not entirely. But then, as you said, all this is unprecedented. Who can be sure of anything?"

Harry heard a door opening and closing, and Madam Pomfrey's brisk voice filled the room. "Finished? Good. I'm going to have to ask you to leave now, Severus. Healer/Patient confidentially, you understand."

Snape's voice came dangerous, "You mean Poppy knows?"

Dumbledore was conveniently pretending not to hear, and stared rather hard at the floating candle next to his window. "We shall have to replace that candle. It's giving off a rather dull light, don't you think?"

"Good morning, Headmaster," said Snape, a clear emphasis on the 'morning', and swooped towards the doors.

Harry backed away quickly and ran as fast and quiet as he could down the corridor. He whipped around once he heard Snape opening the doors, and tried to pretend he'd only just arrived there, while keeping his breathing as low as possible.

Snape sneered at him as he strode past, but his eyes did not, thankfully, seem to hold any suspicion. But then he stopped, robes swaying around his legs. "Potter."

"Sir?" said Harry, trying to keep a confused but polite expression on his face.

Snape got right to the point. "Something was wrong with Professor Dumbledore."

"Yes," Harry said.

"You _know_ what that something is."

"Yes," said Harry, offering no more information. If Snape wanted to know more he should ask. Harry never knew he could be so vindictive, but with Snape he found he didn't much care.

"And did you tell Madam Pomfrey about this —" Snape's nostrils widened "— huge secret?"

"Yes," said Harry.

Snape stared at him then, without a word, continued on.

It was the most bizarre and friendly conversation that he and Snape had ever shared. Though, plainly, Snape did not want to debase himself into asking Harry's permission for the knowledge of the "secret", even though he desperately wanted to know.

Harry was actually surprised that Snape had not tried Legilemency, but with Dumbledore in the nearest room Harry supposed he could not take the risk. Regardless, if he had tried, Harry now knew Occlumency: the thought was enough to put a huge grin on his face.

He walked a little further until, once more, he stood before the hospital wing doors. He could hear Madam Pomfrey fussing over Dumbledore, glanced behind him to make sure Snape wasn't lurking anywhere, then knocked lightly.

"Come in, Mr Potter," said Madam Pomfrey.

Harry stepped in.

Dumbledore smiled at him. "Harry."

"Professor."

Dumbledore gestured to the chair beside his bed. "Do sit down, Harry. Madam Pomfrey has nearly finished. I daresay I'll be pronounced as quite —"

"No, I have not finished, Headmaster!" said Madam Pomfrey, threateningly raising her wand. "You'll not be released until tomorrow if I have anything to say about it. And since I am the absolute authority in this room, you ought to get that idea out of your head right now."

Dumbledore sighed, but threw Harry a wink when Madam Pomfrey turned away.

"We can speak freely, Harry," said Dumbledore after a few moments. "Someone conveniently told Poppy everything, even though she may find it extremely hard to believe."

"Well of course I do, Albus. Alternate dimensions: I've never heard of such a thing. When Potter told me . . . I must admit I thought he had been Confunded at first."

The matron paused in the mixing of her potions to glance at them side-ways, then thrust a flask into Dumbledore's hand, ordering him to drink. Dumbledore made no hesitations: he gulped it down obediently; the only sign of his having disliked it evident in the slight turn of his mouth. "What I shouldn't give for some Sherbet Lemons."

"No sweets!"

Dumbledore shook his head, waved a hand, and a couple more pillows appeared on his lap. These he positioned behind his back so that he was even more propped up. "Now then," he said, turning to face Harry with blue eyes smiling." How are you, Harry?"

Harry was incredulous. "Shouldn't I be asking you that, sir?"

"If you want to ask me I cannot stop you. But be sure to compliment me on my beard. It grew a whole inch a week ago. A truly remarkable feat, considering it had refused to grow at all in the past ten years. "

Harry had almost forgotten how infuriatingly barmy Dumbledore could be when he put his mind to it. "I meant after you disappeared, sir, from Middle-Earth."

"Of course you did." One long finger tapped the bed. "Then you'll be pleased to know, Harry, that nothing much happened in the way that things normally do. I did experience some rather overwhelming pain, but that quickly subsided after I passed into unconsciousness. I woke up this morning with quite a yearning for some hot tea and shortbread biscuits —"

"I hope you weren't stupid enough to actually eat those biscuits, Albus," said Madam Pomfrey, glaring. "I haven't yet ascertained what was wrong with you, and despite your assurances that I don't need to know and that you're perfectly fine now, I will not risk another relapse because you're being stubborn."

But all Dumbledore said was, "May you excuse us for a little while, Poppy?" very kindly.

Madam Pomfrey went, but not quietly. Harry could hear her muttering low under her breath until she closed the door to her office.

Harry frowned. "But I told her everything, sir. Why send her out?"

"Not everything, Harry, not everything," Dumbledore said quietly. "There are some things you have yet to know, perhaps because they have only just happened. I did not find it—let us say—prudent, to inform Madam Pomfrey of them. Professor Snape hardly believed it when I told him. I must confess that I hardly believed it myself, until I searched . . ." He smiled. "Well, we'll get to that in a moment."

"Does this have anything to do with Fawkes, sir?"

Dumbledore looked on the verge of smiling, though Harry thought he saw a great sadness in his eyes. "Most intuitive of you, Harry."

"He's dead, isn't he?" Harry said bluntly.

Dumbledore's brows rose and he stared up at the ceiling. "Some consider eavesdropping to be an admirable trait, if the eavesdropper in question does not get caught out."

Harry flushed.

Those silvery-blue eyes looked back. "But then you weren't, were you, Harry. You told me yourself. A deliberate slip of the tongue, I think."

It was. "Sir, is Fawkes dead? When I was —" he flushed again "— listening in, I sort of concluded that you and Snape, I mean _Professor_ Snape, were talking about Fawkes. I gathered that you'd lost someone close to you —"

"And you leapt to the logical conclusion," Dumbledore finished. "In which case you would be right."

"So he is dead," said Harry, stomach sinking. Fawkes had seemed indestructible, so majestic and pure. The last glimpse Harry had had of Fawkes was certainly not how he wanted to remember the phoenix: screeching in pain and exploding into millions of ashes, left to flutter over the valley of dead uruk-hai. Such an ignoble end for someone who had helped him so many times.

"No."

Harry blinked. "Pardon?"

"He is not dead, Harry."

Oh. "Er, he's not?"

"Not technically, no."

Harry tried to work that out. "He's still in Middle-Earth?"

"Definitely not."

"He's become a chick again."

"Fawkes will never become a chick again."

"Is that possible?"

"Now it is," said Dumbledore simply.

Harry was ready to shout in frustration. "If he's not dead and he's not in Middle-Earth than where is he?"

"He continues to live on, in his own quiet way." Dumbledore's silver-blue eyes seemed to take on an odd tinge of colour. But that change was over with so quickly that Harry was left thinking he had imagined it, or else it had been a reflection of the candle flames.

"Are you even going to tell me, sir?"

"All in due time. There is something you must first understand, and that we should discuss, before I can reveal to you my newest secret. But before we get to any of that, tell me what has been going on with you."

"Sir," Harry protested.

Dumbledore held up a hand. "Indulge me, please."

Harry breathed hard through his nose. It occurred to him suddenly that Dumbledore was the only person he really bothered to keep his temper around (not counting the end of last year), and he wondered why that was. "Okay. What do you want to know?"

"What happened after Fawkes exploded?"

Harry frowned. "How do you know about —"

"Later, Harry."

Harry sighed. "Fine, okay. The battle went on for just a little longer until —" He stopped abruptly.

"Until?"

Harry looked into the kind old face, hand clutching the arm of his chair so hard that he could _feel_ his knuckles turning white. It had never actually occurred to him that he would have to tell Dumledore of his use of the Cruciatus Curse and the subsequent death of about ten thousand orc brethren. He'd simply assumed everything would be all right because Gandalf and the Fellowship believed in him. He had taken their belief for granted: Dumbledore was from his world, and knew what dark magic was capable of doing to a person. Would he reject Harry? Be disappointed in him? Order him out of the hospital wing?

"You're hesitating," said Dumbledore.

"Yes."

"What did you do that causes you to feel so out of character?"

Harry laughed bitterly, but only to himself. How well Dumbledore knew him. "I cast the Cruciatus Curse on an Uruk and they all died. Gandalf explained to me later why that was — something about my magic, and the Uruk-hai being made by Saruman so they're all connected, and how it all cancels itself out. I haven't used it since, sir." He did not feel brave enough to look up at Dumbledore, but instead stared down at his feet.

"Harry look at me."

Harry did.

Dumbledore was smiling kindly. "You should know by now that it is the choices we make that tell us who we are. Just because you chose to use a dark curse does not make you evil. I think you know that. I think that you were only rather terrified of my reaction, yes? The end result saved hundreds of lives, Harry, and _that_ is what matters. You did not hurt anyone, except ten thousand truly evil creatures that deserved it. But that you feel remorse for them is what makes you different from Voldemort or any Dark Wizard.

"I do not believe you a slave to the Dark now, Harry. It takes a lot more than a single Cruciatus Curse to turn someone into a being entirely without remorse or compassion or conscience. After all, it was only one curse, was it not? Cast on only one subject? The rest was simply unexpected fate."

Harry stared. How simple. And it was all true. He had never thought to think of the incident like that.

Dumbledore nodded at him, and picked up his tea cup. "Please go on."

Harry told him everything, though Dumbledore had already deduced some facts on his own (like Harry coming back to Earth that last time, because Madam Pomfrey and McGonagall now knew all about his dimension travelling), and that Harry's Firebolt had broken ("Professor McGonagall couldn't resist telling me this morning," Dumbledore said apologetically). Harry had also decided — after no deliberation whatsoever and no thought to what Ron and Hermione would say if they knew — to tell Dumbledore that they were studying to become Animagi, and that Harry was already half-way there. His headmaster took the news calmly, and even lifted his teacup into the air as a sort of toast to good luck. When Harry came to the part of his mastering Occlumency, Dumbledore beamed.

"Well done, my boy, well done! This Gandalf fellow had the right idea. I've never thought to not think. And of course, when you don't think, no one can see into your mind because there's nothing there to see. Most ingenious."

"It is."

Dumbledore bit into a biscuit. "I am worried, however, about how much attention this Sauron is paying to you."

"I'm a bit player, Professor; his main concern is the Ring," Harry said.

"True, but one can never be too careful. You have grown up so much," said Dumbledore suddenly. "Everything you have accomplished and in so short a time is an incredible achievement, Harry. Don't sell yourself short too quickly."

Hearing that coming from Dumbledore welled up an embarrassing sort of pride in Harry, and he could not quite stop himself from grinning stupidly. "I won't. I'll be careful."

"You've been talking a while." Dumbledore conjured a goblet and tapped his wand on the rim. "Have some water."

"Thank you." Harry drained the goblet of all its liquid, and Dumbledore was kind enough to conjure some more water. This Harry sipped only occasionally. "That's all there is to tell, really."

"And now you wish me to tell my story," said Dumbledore. "But alas, this is where I must disappoint."

"What?" Harry sat up. "Sir!"

But Dumbledore made a waving motion with his hand. "I apologise, Harry, but I never specified _when_ I will tell you, and there is a reason for that."

Harry slouched back down. This was just like Dumbledore. "Yeah?"

"Do you remember a couple of weeks ago, Earth time, when I told you that you would be studying something with me in your sixth year? Something very important."

Harry nodded. He remembered being excited about the idea and telling Ron and Hermione.

"Until I can tell you about that, I cannot tell you about Fawkes," said Dumbledore.

Harry blinked. That made no sense whatsoever. It implied that whatever he was supposed to study with Dumbeldore was somehow linked with Fawkes's disappearance, but that wasn't possible. Fawkes had not disappeared until later. "That means I have to wait until school starts again. But why can't you tell me about it all now?" asked Harry.

Dumbledore stared quietly for a little while. "Because the thing which I will tell you about is so large, so singularly horrifying, that it will weigh on your mind until you won't be able to concentrate. I want for you to be able to focus on your task in Middle-Earth. If you had this eating away at you, you will never be able to focus properly, and that could lead to injury or worse. Do what you have to do there, then come back here and I will tell you everything."

"Horrifying, sir?"

"Yes." Dumbledore looked sombre. "In fact, it is rather bewildering how our present situation so greatly resembles the one in Middle-Earth."

Harry looked at him, but Dumbledore did not venture to explain anything more. The main situation in Middle-Earth was the current destroying of Sauron's Ring. Was that what Dumbledore meant? Sauron and his Ring? "I don't understand, but I expect I can wait until sixth year starts."

"Very good. And that brings me to my next . . . well I won't go so far as to say 'problem', but I _am_ having a little trouble in procuring a new professor for the year, and I'd like for you to help me with that, Harry."

Nothing could have shocked Harry more. "Me?"

"Yes. Tomorrow, if Madam Pomfrey wills it. And I'd like to ask you not to go back to Middle Earth tonight."

"Okay." Harry thought that an odd request, seeing as it didn't really matter whether he went back tonight or tomorrow as no time would pass, but Dumbledore must have had his reasons. "Anything else, sir?"

Dumbledore pretended to think. "You can stay and keep me company if you like, but I'm afraid it'll be rather dull. Why don't you go back to the Burrow. I'll Apparate there tomorrow some time in the morning, so you'd best be ready."

"All right, sir." Harry stood, then hesitated. "It's good to see you awake."

"Harry, it's good to be awake."

xxxxxx

"So what you're saying," said Ron, a look of horrified confusion on his face, "is that I have to master Occlumency _before_ I can become an Animagus?"

Hermione sighed. "No, Ron, I'm just saying it's an option. It worked for Harry; that doesn't mean it's going to work for you."

"Oh. That's all right, then."

Hermione rolled her eyes, pulled a text book from her satchel, and buried her head in it.

Ron turned to Harry. "Wanna play Quidditch now?"

It was the perfect day for it. The field behind the Burrow was pleasantly breezy and cool, despite the afternoon sun, and Hermione had made them all a large pitcher of cold pumpkin juice so that they did not have to go into the Burrow to get a drink. Hermione would not be playing, for obvious reasons, and she was comfortable enough under the shady oak so Harry and Ron did not have to feel guilty about deserting her. Although Ron made one last effort to tempt Hermione into joining, to which she pointedly refused. "I don't even know how to fly a broom," she reminded them, and Ron gave up.

"She'll never get over her fear of flying unless she actually tries," Ron remarked to Harry after their game, brooms swinging over their shoulders, as they walked back to Hermione. They were pleasantly surprised to see Lupin sitting next to her on the grass, listening intensely to what was no doubt a lecture about one of Hermione's enthusiasms.

". . . rry and Ron joined, but I know they only did it for my sake. They don't _really_ care or understand. But I'm sure you do, Professor Lupin: you, out of anyone, know what it's really like."

"House elves aren't quite like werewolves, Hermione," said Lupin.

"Yes, but your situation is the same —"

"Give it a rest, Hermione," Ron butted in, easing down next to her. "Pass the pumpkin juice."

Hermione glared, blushing slightly, but did as he asked.

Harry could not help but notice that Lupin looked particularly grateful to see them. "Harry. Ron."

"Lupin," they both said.

Before Hermione could continue with her lecture, Lupin jumped in: "Harry, can I see you privately for a bit?"

"Sure." He finished off his pumpkin juice and gave his goblet to Ron before following Lupin some ways down the hill.

"I must say, Harry," said Lupin after they stopped under another tree, "you're looking very well. It seems Middle-Earth agrees with you."

Harry hadn't noticed anything different about himself this morning in the bathroom mirror, except that he was now bronzer than he had been a week ago. "Thanks."

"I expect Molly's been pestering you about your hair."

Harry stared. "She won't let up, actually. Every time she looks at me she draws her wand." Harry did not think his hair that long anyway. It barely reached his shoulders. Even Ron's was almost as long, but apparently still short enough to avoid insulting Mrs Weasley's sense of respectability.

"I only came to ask how you found my book, and also to give you another." Lupin withdrew a small yet thick leather-bound text from inside his shabby robes.

Harry blinked in surprise when he saw the title: _Animagus: an advanced guide._ "Oh," he said. Stupidly.

Lupin hesitated. "I thought you might like it. It used to be Sirius's, you know. I found it in his room the other day. Your father and Pettigrew used it also when they trained to become Animagi. Well, I assumed —"

"No!" said Harry quickly, grabbing Lupin's wrist before he could pocket the book. "It's great. Only . . . just a little ironic."

"Ironic?" Lupin looked narrowly at him. "You mean you're trying already?"

Harry nodded sheepishly.

"Ah," said Lupin, brows rising. "Well it wouldn't hurt to have an extra copy."

Harry accepted the book reverently, nearly forgetting to thank Lupin. He flipped through it, noting the footnotes in the margins. Sirius and his father had probably written those! For Harry the book suddenly became more than a means to achieve a higher level of magic, but also a memento of his deceased family: something personal from Sirius and James that Harry could hold. "The copy Hermione found isn't the same," he whispered, throat oddly tight. He cleared it, embarrassed.

"Hermione too? And Ron, I suppose." Lupin stared in their direction, the breeze blowing his light brown hair into his eyes. He brushed it back and turned to Harry. "I shouldn't be surprised, really. You three do everything together."

"Not everything."

"No, they can't go to Middle-Earth, can they?"

"They'd die if they did. Have you gone to see Dumbledore?"

"Not yet. But if you're here having fun and playing Quidditch I can only assume he's at full health, or getting there at least."

Harry grinned. They began walking back to the large oak. "I liked your book by the way. It really helped me a lot."

Lupin put a hand on his shoulder. "Whenever you need me, Harry."

Harry nodded. He understood.

xxxxxx

Horace Slughorn was not somebody Harry liked especially, but to his own surprise he had managed to persuade the ex-professor into coming to Hogwarts. He wished he could learn not to be surprised when Dumbledore pulled stunts like that; as it was he stood in awe at the brilliance of his headmaster.

Dumbledore Apparated them back to the Burrow. "Please convey my sincere regrets to Molly Weasley," he said, walking Harry to the front door, "but I cannot stay for lunch. Concerns are too pressing at the moment."

"Of course, sir."

"I'd like you to do for me one more favour, Harry."

Harry wasn't sure if he liked Dumbledore's tone. It was entirely too innocent sounding. "Go on."

"With your permission, I should like to tell Professor Snape about your . . . dimension travelling, for lack of a better term."

"Why?" asked Harry bluntly.

Dumbledore must have sensed he was on dangerous ground because he became serious. "Professor Snape is currently helping me with something very important and he does not have all the facts, and he needs to have them."

"But you told Lupin without asking my permission."

"That is because I knew you wouldn't object. With Professor Snape, however. . ." Dumbledore didn't need to finish.

"Right," Harry said. The thought of Snape knowing one of his biggest secrets made him want to . . . well, it made him want to do something unpleasant. "All right," he grunted.

Dumbledore looked at him. "Thank you, Harry. I know you don't particularly get along with our solitary potions master."

Harry snorted. 'Don't particularly?'_ Try, 'Hating his guts'!_ He did not say this aloud, though. "Good day, sir."

"Good day, Harry. And be careful." Dumbledore squeezed his shoulder a little then, with a small _pop_, he vanished.

Harry spent the rest of that day wondering what Snape's reaction had been to knowing his secret, and if the potions' master was, at this moment even, cursing Harry's existence. The thought buoyed him on for another few hours until it was time to go again.

"Try focusing really, really hard on your broom this time," said Hermione. She was sitting on Harry's bed beside him, Ron her left. "With how far you've come in mastering your own thoughts I think you should be right."

"I don't think it's going to be a problem. I mean, I don't fancy having saddle sores again. I don't think my brain would let me fail."

"That's either a very crude joke, or you're being serious," said Hermione. Her lips were curled in a very odd position; as though she didn't know whether to smile or be shocked.

"I was being serious," Harry protested. "D'you still want me to bring you back a souvenir?"

Hermione glanced down at her hands. "Well, if you have the time."

"Ron?"

Ron glanced up from playing with Ginny's new pigmy puff. "A sword?" he suggested.

Harry chucked a pillow at him.

xxxxxx

A/N: I don't think I'll get another chapter up before xmas so: Merry Christmas!


	24. Heart of a Hobbit

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling. The Lord of the Rings belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien. I do not own anything. I am making no profit whatsoever in writing this story. This is an amateur attempt.

A/N: Wow! We have now past the ONE Thousandth review mark! THANK YOU to everyone who has reviewed up until this point (and by that I mean all non-flamers). This chapter is dedicated to you all.

On another note: I don't know if anyone had read my profile page a while ago, but in it I explained what was going to be happening with updates for my stories. After this chapter for _The Black Wizard_ I will not be updating again until I finish _Little Harry and the Mirkwood Adventure._ Since there are only two or three chapters to go for _Little Harry_, it shouldn't take long before I'm updating _Black Wizard_ again. I will then continue to update consistently until the end of the story.

On yet another note: I have started a series of "_Black Wizard_ future excerpt" one-shots that should speak for themselves. I already have one up, _My Lost Thing_. The other one-shots are pretty much going to be fluctuating in regards to updates because they're not as important as the actual story.

The very last thing I have to add is an apology. I haven't updated in a while. A family member has actually died recently, so that contributed to my not updating. Uni, work, tutoring, and other stuff all combined also contributed. And I have other stories that I am also updating at the same time as _The Black Wizard_, so they have taken a bit of my time as well. Fortunately, as stated above, I will only have one other (novel length) story to update in addition to _The Black Wizard_ after I finish _Little Harry and the Mirkwood Adventure._

Thank you all for being so patient.

This chapter is for those who were _especially_ patient and didn't resort to horrific threats and hurtful name-calling (I have since removed the abuse!). I hope you enjoy.

xxxxxx

**Chapter Twenty-Four: Heart of A Hobbit**

Harry did not know what compelled him to walk in the rain and in the dark at four o'clock in the morning. His journey from the Burrow to Middle Earth, while brief, had been unpleasant, and for the first time Harry had awakened from his dimension hop with a rolling stomach. Several dry heaves later had dispelled him of the feeling; sleep, however, had not come to him again and he hadn't thought it likely to.

With Gandalf snoring quietly in the corner and Pippin mumbling in his sleep, Harry had slipped out of bed and into his robes, turned the knob gently, and walked out. It had not been raining then. The clouds had shone an eerie dark-grey with the hidden moon behind them. Harry had stopped to sniff at the breeze, which had smelled like rain, but this fact would not register to him until it started raining a little while later.

So, hands in pockets, Harry walked — in no particular direction, although he seemed to be sloping downward. Occasionally he would kick a puddle (it had started raining now), stand as the water soaked into his socks, and continue on. Although the _Impervius_ charm drove away the water (as well as, it was probably safe to assume, a future cold) it did not drive away his thoughts, which were swirling like mad.

He wasn't thinking about anything particularly "bad", only sort of . . . odd. He could not remember the last time he had a chance to be just by himself with no Ron or Hermione or Gandalf or hobbit hounding his every step. It had been a while since he could be just Harry; just to walk by himself and think about his life so far. Mostly about what had just happened.

Travelling between the two dimensions of Earth and Middle-Earth had always been fairly simple: Fall asleep, dream of either place, and end up there. But ever since Harry had learned Occlumency and started preparing to become an Animagus, something had changed. Something vital. He'd had a glimpse of this change the last time he had travelled to Earth, but that was only a glimpse, nothing he should be getting alarmed over. He was some sort of winged animal, he knew that much, but now Harry thought he must be some sort of _monstrous_ winged animal because he had actually eaten something raw. And not a small something either (which, if it had been a rat or vole of some sort Harry would easily have imagined his Animagus form to be that of an owl or eagle), but a big something.

A sheep.

Harry had swooped down upon a herd of grazing sheep, plucked a juicy fat one, taken it to some dark cosy cave, and eaten it. Then he had awakened.

This was not possible.

Not that he had woken up, but that he had eaten a sheep. No flying animal was big enough to eat a sheep — at least, no _normal_ animal. There _were_ magical animals like dragons or gryffins or hyppogriffs that were capably big enough to gorge themselves on sheep (or something bigger), but Harry was quite certain a wizard could not turn into an animal that already had magical properties in its blood. It just could not be possible . . . well, maybe it could; he would have to check that. But Harry was fairly adamant in thinking that it wasn't. So that left him back at square one.

He continued shuffling on — he was pretty sure he had reached the third level by now, but could not care enough to try and count back.

_But . . ._ Harry thought, stomach jumping a million miles a minute as a brilliant idea occurred to him. _That may not apply to Middle-Earth animals. What do I know about them anyway, except for the few that the hobbits told me about? Perhaps . . . perhaps birds in Middle-Earth grow larger than they do back home?_

It wasn't a stupid idea.

It was something to think about. He would have to ask Pippin or Gandalf when he had the chance. Now, though, it was time to return back to his room. It had stopped spitting, the street and buildings gleaming like oil from the effect of rainwater and moonlight. Harry was fairly sure he was now on the second level. The streets here were much dirtier and the houses more clumped together than on the sixth level where Harry, Gandalf and Pippin had been quartered. The second level was the peasant level — but thinking that made Harry feel a little uncomfortable. _Even if it's true?_

Harry blinked slowly. It was an awfully stupid thing to think about in the early hours of the morning. _I must be more tired than I'd first thought. _He jumped when a rat hurried across his path_. _Yes, a _lot_ more tired than he had first thought. It was time to head back.

Harry turned — and just about lost his wits when he spotted two shadows lurking in a nearby alley.

"Hello?" he tried.

"Who goes there?!"

Harry jumped again at the unexpected response. He had all but convinced himself the shadows were simply shadows. "Harry," answered Harry.

"Harry?" one of the shadows muttered. "Show yourself!"

_Show myself?_ He thought he was. "Er . . . how?"

"Into the light, where we can see you."

Harry hesitated, then stepped out of the shadows and into the moonlight. Now that he was closer he could clearly see who the shadows were: two guards, holding two weapons. Pointed at him.

"You!" said the guard on the left, his sword lowering.

"Me," Harry answered, not really knowing what else to say.

"What are you doing slinking about at this hour of the night?"

"I wanted a stroll." Harry answered honestly. And he was more than a little irritated at the guards for having interrupted it.

"Stroll?" said the guard on the right.

"Are you constantly going to repeat everything I say?"

They exchanged fearful glances at this.

Harry straightened. "What?"

They jumped. The guard on the left, braver than the one on the right, stepped forward. "Seems a bit queer, is all, you wandering the streets at night. Not doing anything wizardly I hope?"

"Yes!" said Harry, now completely out of patience with their fear, especially as he hadn't done anything to warrant it. "I'm trying to figure out whom _next_ to turn into a frog."

Harry could practically feel their armour clanking with their shivering. Now he was just confused. He could not possibly have that much of a fearsome reputation. Already. But clearly these guards thought so because they were not attempting to approach him. Their weapons had gone up again, also, and Harry got his second look at some rather sharp swords. Best not to agitate them more, then.

"Look: why don't we just forget I was here and I'll go back to my quarters? And you can go back to doing whatever it is you were doing," Harry offered, looking them up and down.

There was something very odd about them — and not just that they looked terrified out of their wits — it was something about the way they stood. Frankly they looked rather _un-_guardish. Weedy, almost. Gangly. Not intimidating in the least. They had no bulk to them (like the guards Harry had seen near the citadel) except the artificial one that their armour produced.

Perhaps, because they were of the peasant class, they didn't have much to eat? That excuse seemed rather weak.

"An idea we can all follow," said the guard on the left. Then flapped an imperious hand at Harry in a shooing motion. "Carry on."

Harry wanted to tell him exactly what he could do with that hand, but thought he would just cause more trouble if he did. He went.

It only occurred to him later, while he was comfortably tucked back in bed, Gandalf's familiar snoring churning through the room, that the guards had not been guards at all.

They had been teenagers.

Perhaps a few years younger than Harry.

The question that bothered him now was if they had been there on purpose or if they were actually stationed there? It was the second level after all, hardly look-out material. The most trouble that could occur there was of the domestic kind. Did Minas Tirith employ teenagers to work at night? Or were they simply pretending at being guards?

The battle had Helm's Deep suddenly pushed itself to the forefront of his brain. Hadn't kids fought there, too? Hadn't Harry himself saved a few from getting killed? Hadn't he made friends with them? Harry had thought that the only reason they'd been in the battle at all was because of the insufficient number of soldiers, but his experiences tonight said otherwise. Was it common for children to fight, to guard? It seemed so, from what Harry had seen.

But why?

Did people mature quicker here, or something?

He almost sat up at that. _Of course!_ People in the old days died quicker, didn't they? Because of the conditions they had to live through. That meant that they had to grow up faster, too.

Imagining this happening to people he knew, to the hobbits, to Boromir . . . the thought saddened him somewhat and he stared in confusion up at his dark ceiling. Harry knew that Aragorn was not like Boromir. Aragorn would live for a long while yet because of his Elvish blood. Gimli would live for a couple of centuries because he was a dwarf. And Gandalf and Legolas were immortal. But the others . . .

Harry punched his mattress in frustration at his depressing thoughts. He had no idea why he was thinking this, now, at this time of the morning. Perhaps because the boys were around Harry's age, but wouldn't live anywhere near to the years Harry would.

Same as Boromir and the hobbits

Of course it could all just be a big joke and the two boys had only snuck out to act stupid.

Yawning, Harry tugged the sheet up to his neck and turned on his side. His thoughts felt so disjointed, his stomach warped with a cold feeling. He'd much rather sleep and forget everything. Yes, sleep. Sleep was good . . .

A minute later he was snoring.

xxxxx

"Could you tell me what sort of animals can be found in Middle-Earth?"

Gandalf stared at him as though Harry had a fish on his head. "Pardon?"

Harry sat beside the wizard — up-wind so that he would not be in way of the pipe smoke. "Animals. In, er, Arda. What sorts are there?" Harry asked again.

Gandalf shrugged slightly and went back to staring over the battlements and at the surrounding mountains. "All sorts. Cats, dogs, wolves, horses . . . all those you know about, I am sure." He turned back to Harry, suspicious glint in his eye. "Why do you ask?"

Harry scratched the back of his head. Well he certainly wasn't a bloody cat! "It occurred to me that my actual form — my Animagus form — could be an animal that resides in Middle-Earth." Harry explained about the dreams induced by a combination of Occlumency and dimension travelling, Gandalf nodding and looking grim at the appropriate moments. When Harry came to the part of his eating an entire sheep, Gandalf's eyebrows shot up and disappeared behind his hat.

"Well," said the wizard, puffing a little, "I would think that there aren't many flying animals which can eat an entire sheep. Besides the Great Eagles and Dragons and . . . _Fell Beasts_, I suppose." Gandalf's eyes glazed over for a moment, then he smiled and stroked his beard. "However, since Pippin told me you have Dragons in your world, and some variation of Eagles no doubt, I can only assume you wanted my advice because your kind cannot turn into magical creatures?"

"Yes," Harry said, amazed yet again at the old wizard's intuition. He had confirmed that morning, after flipping through Sirius's Animagus book, that turning into a magical creature was not possible for wizarding folk. It required too much power that the wizard or witch just could not access; power that had to be similar to the animal's in question. The text book had given a hypothetical yet rather vague example as to how it all worked —something about if a gryffon had wizarding powers and wished to change into a hippogriff it would be able to, but if it wanted to become human it wouldn't be possible for it because humans had a different form of magic altogether. Harry still had trouble getting his head around it.

But now he wanted to find out if his question could be answered. If anyone would know Gandalf would. "I guess I just wanted to know if there were any _normal_ birds here."

"Big enough to eat a sheep?" Gandalf shook his head. "No. I am sorry, Harry. Perhaps you have overlooked some possibilities in your own world? Hmm?"

"I expect I could be a vulture," Harry said dully. _I am _not_ going to be a vulture! _"I don't know if they're big enough, though." But Harry was very afraid that they just might be.

Gandalf chuckled bemusedly. "All these references to things I do not understand. It is a new, novel, but not altogether unsatisfying experience."

"_You_ don't understand," Harry said, slumping back in his chair. "I don't know what 'Fell Beasts' are but they sound horrible." Not least because Gandalf had not thought to explain them.

"That is because they are," Gandalf said gravely. "The Nazgul use them as transport and spies. Foul wretches and Black Wings! You can call them the Black Steeds of the air, Harry. Not magical, but wicked and clever . . . let us hope you are not going to shift into one of them."

His options were just getting better and better. "Let's," Harry whispered.

Gandalf looked at him. "Are you feeling well?"

"I don't want to be a Fell Beast!"

"Nor would I," Gandalf said, not helping matters. "But if you do become one. . . why, just think: you can enter Mordor and spy for us. No one would stop you."

"Er. . ."

Gandalf smiled gently at Harry's briefly shocked look. "I was merely jesting, my lad."

"Oh." Harry said.

But Gandalf could obviously tell that Harry was not feeling better so he tried to placate him a little. "The Nazgul-birds . . . they are mere animals, Harry, taking on the traits of their masters from birth. If you or I were to train one it should be friendly, as all beasts that are trained thus."

Harry nodded.

"I admit that no one knows much about them, except that they are winged creatures," Gandalf continued, scratching the side of his hooked nose. "If they are birds, then they're greater than all other birds. Skin of dark leather envelopes their large frames. Neither quill nor feather do they bear, and their vast pinions are as webs of hide between horned fingers; and they stink quite remarkably. Creatures of an older world maybe . . ."

Harry nodded vaguely, going over what Gandalf had told him. _Leathery skin, webs of hide,_ _creatures of an older world . _. . He sat up abruptly, Gandalf starting with his movement. "Do you mean _dinosaurs_?" he asked. That thought had _never_ occurred to him before. "You have dinosaurs here?"

Gandalf blinked. "I . . . dyno-sores?" he tried.

"Never mind." Harry shook his head and slumped back down. He did not need Gandalf to explain to him, because it was obvious: _Creatures of an older world._ Fell beasts were dinosaurs. Dinosaurs! All previous depressing thoughts of turning into a vulture or large mutated chicken of some kind faded away like they had never been. Harry was now convinced he was going to be a dinosaur. There was no other option. He simply _had_ to be a dinosaur. No other animal that was not magical was big enough.

His sudden euphoria ended quite abruptly at the thought. He would be very conspicuous, wouldn't he? His form not at all good for spying or hiding beneath shrubs. The thought was _not_ pleasant. Nor was the possibility of being, perhaps, too stupid to spy in the first place. What if, like his dream, he started eating sheep? Or even people? Becoming a dinosaur was going to take getting used to. What if the animal's natural instincts were going to be too much for him to handle and he _really_ became a Fell Beast?

Harry quickly reached into his robe pocket and pulled out Sirius's book. There had to be an answer in there.

"You seem restless suddenly." Gandalf's voice was gentle next to his ear. "What are you looking for?"

"I'll tell you when I find it," Harry answered, flipping to the index.

It took an extra four minutes before a passage on page 137 caught his eye.

_. . . do not, as far as witches and wizards know, acquire the instincts of the animal in question. It has been theorised; however, that if the wizard or witch were to spend a sufficient amount of time in their animal form they would then develop traits from that animal that transition into their human form: nothing mental, but physical. They might, if one were to look at a hypothetical situation, develop cat's eyes if their form was that of a cat, and so on. Although, this theory has been debunked many times as there has been no evidential proof that such a thing could be possible. The question of why anyone would _want_ to spend a great length of time in their animal form has been brought up, with no logical or conclusive answer._

Harry flipped the page, scanned down, until another interesting passage caught his eye.

_Animagi are not to be confused with wizarding folk that have been transfigured via a spell by another witch or wizard. These "transfigured" folk _become_ the animal. The animal's instincts, senses, and thoughts become those of the wizard. _

_Situation:_

_Wizard A transfigures Wizard B into a toad (see below)._

There was quite an elaborate drawing underneath the passage that depicted a wizard with scarlet robes pointing a wand at his counterpart, who was halfway between his transformation. By the time Harry had finished watching the transformation was complete and the victor wizard brushed off his robes, turned, and bowed to him. The toad, however, hopped onto a lily pad and into the murky pond water until Harry could not see him anymore.

He continued reading:

_That is why becoming an Animagus is so difficult and transfiguring another into an animal is so easy — not least because the two require completely different spells. Wizards keep their minds when they transform themselves, but don't when another does it for them. The toad hopped away because he had no knowledge of who he really was. Nature decreed that he was simply a small amphibian who became frightened upon noticing the large, ugly mammal standing over him and thus hid amongst the weeds in a response to its natural instinct for survival. _

_This is also the reason why witches and wizards change each other — or, before Muggle/Wizard Relation Laws, muggles — into small, helpless creatures like toads, or bats, or rodents _(see Muggle Medieval Myths, pg 61_). These wizard turned animals would then be too small to do the caster any harm, as opposed to larger creatures such as tigers, which would rather eat a human than run away or hop into a pond. The Danish wizard, Ingvar Ingarsson, from the Epic poem "The Time I Lost My Foot To A Bear Then Grew Myself Another" (1384) found this out the hard way when . . ._

Harry closed the book, grinning. "It's going to be all right I think. No matter what animal I'll change into I'll still be Harry underneath."

"That is good to know," said Gandalf a little hesitantly.

Harry wondered at that, then remembered he hadn't actually told Gandalf what he had been so worried about.

He told him now.

"I can see why you were so nervous," said the elder wizard after Harry had hastily explained. "I should not wish to eat people either, if I can help it. And might I add what a remarkable painting that is. Do you know of the one who painted it?"

"Probably the wizard who wrote the book." Harry licked his lip and placed the book carefully into his pocket. "Arnold Penworthy."

"Was it he who gave you the book?"

Upon reflecting the question Harry realised that the printing press hadn't been invented in Middle Earth yet. Though he wasn't sure wizards used printing presses either. He scratched at an itch on his knee. "Not exactly. He didn't pass it on to me if that's what you mean. This book was bought."

Gandalf's enormous brows rose. "Such a valuable thing? Sold? Just like that?"

"There's more than one copy of it."

Gandalf nodded, though it was clear to Harry that he wasn't quite sure what Harry was talking about. And Harry decided that trying to explain would be way over his head as he wasn't quite sure either. "What do you intend to do now?"

His friend's question suddenly caused Harry contrary emotions. He ought to practise his transformation, he knew that, but there were more important things happening that he should be concentrating on first. Then again, the possibility of having a fully-fledged Animagus form _would_ be a great benefit. On the other hand there was no guarantee he would transform anytime soon. Hadn't it taken his father and Sirius _years?_ But then, he _had_ completed a lot of the necessary steps that the process towards the transformation required; he had even skipped some! Harry was not sure whether this was a consequence of his mastering Occlumency or of his living in an entirely different dimension for over three months now. "I'm not exactly sure, to be honest."

"No one can be," said Gandalf very wisely.

"It's just . . ." Harry raked a hand through his hair and bit his lip. "I can't help thinking that I should be concentrating on something more important."

"Your shape-changing is also important, is it not?"

"But not pressing," Harry said, glancing sideways.

"Ah," said Gandalf. "What do you wish to do instead, then?"

The question stumped Harry. "I-I don't know." _Gandalf wants me to do something?_ All he _really_ wanted was to practise his transformation, but circumstances being what they were may not allow him to do that. But why had Gandalf asked him for an alternative? Was he, in fact, planning something? Was this Gandalf's way of testing him for something? Was Harry just thinking too much?

The old wizard patted his shoulder. "You think on it."

Harry blinked.

"In the meantime, while you do so, I need you run several errands for me."

Harry straightened.

xxxxxxxxx

Pippin was in the stables patting Shadowfax when Harry arrived on the sixth level. Gandalf's explanation about why he needed Pippin so desperately all of a sudden had been vague and mysterious so Harry hadn't given it a thought, knowing he would find out later. Now that he had actually found Pippin; however, he was a little put out that the hobbit wasn't alone. Instead Pippin was talking to a stern looking man who was dressed in a black leather over-tunic and polished black boots — an almost exact replica of the uniform of the child guards Harry had met last night except somehow richer. This man was more important. His hair, dark like Aragorn's, was a little longer than Harry was used to seeing on the men of this realm, and his eyes, also like Aragorn's, were gentle as he spoke quietly to his little companion. It looked like they were in deep, yet friendly conversation. Harry would have to wait even longer than he had planned, it seemed.

"Pippin?"

The murmurs halted as two heads — one small, one large — turned towards the entrance. "Harry!" Pippin grinned and made beckoning gesture. "Come, Harry, and meet my friend Beregond."

Harry thought he may as well make with the pleasantries; the man looked interesting enough, besides. He was obviously someone important, though he seemed nothing like Denethor. _What an odd comparison?_ Harry could not imagine why he had made it.

He shook his head a little as he walked further into the stables, the smell of straw sweet and heavy in the air as it was crushed under his trainers. "Hullo, sir," Harry greeted as he stopped before them. "Harry Potter, at your service."

"Good morning." The large man inclined his head. "Beregond son of Bergil at yours, young wizard. I trust you are enjoying your stay in our city? Is it not grand?"

"Very," Harry agreed, all the time wondering why almost everyone that he had ever met in Middle-Earth persisted in calling him either 'young wizard' or 'my lord'.

"Beregond — he is an important guard, you know — has been very kind, Harry," said Pippin. "He has been taking me around. Minas Tirith is even larger than I had thought but we still have quite aways to go and quite a lot to see. We were about to head off to the buttery, in fact."

"So you've been on a tour?" Harry asked politely.

"Yes, indeed. It's been a very enlightening one, also," said Pippin happily, smiling up at Beregond. "Did you know that there are seven levels in Minas Tirith?"

"Er," said Harry.

"Oh," said Pippin, who had by now learned to interpret Harry's 'Ers' and had correctly read the 'yes' in Harry's voice. "I had to try and impress you for once. I could not have impressed Gandalf with that —"

Harry could not let that opportunity pass by. "Gandalf's actually looking for you, Pippin. He asked me to come get you."

Immediately the hobbit's demeanour, which had been so bright and cheery before, faded away, leaving only a sort of guilty perplexity on the little face. Pippin, who had done nothing as of yet, was expecting some sort of reprimand for whatever it was he hadn't done. Or his expression could have just been a reflex reaction, Harry pondered suddenly, brought about by Pippin's always getting into trouble with Gandalf and immediately expecting a scolding no matter if he had done anything wrong or not. Harry could smell hobbit guilt; he had been able to smell it ever since the _Palantir_ incident. Pippin had not yet forgiven himself and thought Gandalf hadn't done so either.

"You wish to leave now?" Pippin asked hesitantly.

Harry shrugged apologetically. "Gandalf did say right away."

"I am sorry, then, for having to leave, Mister Beregond. I hope to see you soon."

"Without a doubt, Master Peregrin!" said Beregond. "If I may, it is early yet. We shall meet up later in the day right in this very spot, and then we shall walk to lunch and trade stories. I am most curious to hear about your Shire."

"And I am most curious about Gondor, friend."

"It is settled then. I will see you later." He bowed to Pippin then bowed to Harry. "No doubt I will see you later also, Master Wizard."

"No doubt," Harry agreed. The man was oddly fascinating in a very stern way. Perhaps that was where the comparison to Denethor had come from.

"Fair-the-well." Beregond patted Shadowfax on the shoulder and left, arms crossed behind his back and his feet never seeming to pick up straw as Harry's had done.

Harry turned back to Pippin. "Shall we go?"

The morose little head nodded.

"Don't be like that." Harry playfully punched Pippin's shoulder as he walked past. "You aren't in any trouble."

"How do _you_ know?"

Harry stopped at that, blinking. He honestly didn't. "Just because."

"But how?" Pippin asked again.

"Gandalf didn't look angry," Harry speculated.

"Truly?"

Harry nodded.

Pippin looked considerably happier. Both he and Harry then patted Shadowfax twice on the head before leaving the stall. "Farewell, Shadowfax! Have patience. Battle is coming," said Pippin.

Shadowfax stamped his hooves and neighed so loudly that the stable shook and they had to cover their ears.

"Merlin!" Harry yelled over the echoes. His estimation of the magical horse had just gone up.

Before they left completely Harry walked into another stall to greet his own horse, which he had become quite fond of on their journey to the white city. "Keep Shadowfax company, won't you boy? I think he's getting lonely."

Hammrod snuffled into Harry's hand, searching for a treat. Harry laughed and reached into his pocket. At the sight of the orange stick (Harry had nicked it from the Weasley garden last night) the horse stamped his foot until Harry stuck it in his mouth.

Hammrod butted his shoulder happily as Harry walked out.

"If you don't mind," said Harry a short while later as hobbit and boy trekked through a mob of morning market people, "but I have to get something for Gandalf from here. Do you know of a place that sells weed?"

"Oh my, yes. I was there just this morning. Not as good as the Old Toby, of course, and not as sweet, but it should do for Gandalf."

"It should?"

Pippin nodded seriously. "Even if it is bitter. People in Gondor don't smoke a lot, I have noticed, and they can hardly help it if they grow leaf that is not very good."

"Why is that?" Harry asked, curious. It seemed to him everyone but Elves did. "Don't smoke a lot, that is."

The hobbit shrugged. "I don't know. It is a hobbit custom and we stole the habit from the Númenóreans long ago, as Gandalf tells me, but we now grow the leaves ourselves and ours are the best in all of Middle-Earth. Rangers smoke them. Even wizards. Saruman had a whole stockroom full of Longbottom Leaf. We divided it among ourselves. I cannot imagine how Gandalf could have gone through his share in so short a time."

Harry sniggered.

"Of course," Pippin leaned in conspiratorially, "it could be because Merry and I kept most of it ourselves."

Harry laughed out loud.

"Though, I shouldn't talk," Pippin continued, pausing for a moment to avoid getting trod on by a large man who'd pushed past them. "I used my only bundle last night. Merry always says I smoke too much."

There was a solemn tone in Pippin's voice as he spoke of his cousin and Harry hastily changed the subject.

It took them a short time to arrive at the shop, which was small and tucked out of the way at the end of a narrow street. A bell jangled lightly as Harry stepped through after Pippin, noting the blackened walls. The smell wouldn't hit him until later.

"Good morning again, little one! Back so soon? Who is your friend?"

Harry blinked at the sight.

The man who'd spoken was short and squat with not much hair and not much voice, having lost that ages ago to pipe-weed. About him lingered a cloud of _black_, puffed out occasionally from the end of the pipe in his mouth. It smelled _vile_ and Harry quashed the immediate urge to remove his hat and cover his nose with it.

"This is Harry, the Bla — er, my _friend_, and we have come to collect some more pipe-weed, if you please," said Pippin.

_No, no we haven't,_ Harry thought desperately, _if this smell is what I have to put up with around Gandalf!_

But the man's beard almost fell off in his excitement. Despite Pippin's attempt at subtlety he had recognised Harry. He even dropped his pipe in a crate of dry leaves on the countertop and didn't notice when the small fire started. Harry had to use his wand to put it out, almost making the man faint at the casual display.

"The pipe-weed!" Harry bit out after moments of staring. "It's not going to get itself, is it?"

"Of course not, my lord —" Harry _almost_ rolled his eyes "— which do you prefer?"

_Certainly not yours_. "The leaf you're smoking is a little too strong for Gandalf's tastes." _And mine._ "Have you anything milder, sir?"

"Of course, yes, of course. Young Master Peregrin purchased some just this morning. Not as strong as mine, nor yet as sweet as that Long-buttocks Leaf."

"Long_bottom_," Pippin corrected.

"That'll do, then. If you could wrap it up?" Harry said encouragingly. He wanted to get out of the shop as quickly as possible; the smoke was starting to make his eyes water.

"I shall!" said the man, already bustling. As his large backside bent over to retrieve the leaf from the bottom shelves Harry's gaze caught on something interesting right above it.

"Can you get that for me, too, please?"

The man straightened and looked to where Harry was pointing. "Whatever will you need that for?"

"It's a present."

The man smiled slyly. "For a young maid, perhaps?"

Harry fought the urge to laugh; his brain had suddenly jumped to a ridiculous image of Ron dressed in a skirt and batting his eyelashes. "Not exactly," he managed to choke out. Then it occurred to him . . . "What do you mean? Do men not buy those?"

"They can if they wish."

"Then why . . . .?" Why had the man immediately jumped to the assumption that Harry was buying it for a girl? "Doesn't matter. Just wrap it up, or put it in a pack, or whatever you do."

"Pack? Do you not have your own?"

Harry just stared.

"Imagine? Me? Packing it for you? I've never heard of such a thing."

"I have a pack," said Pippin helpfully. Harry could not help but notice that he had been following the exchange very closely up until that point and had only now started out of his daze.

"_I_ have a pack," Harry gritted out between clenched teeth. "I just thought . . . never mind." He was _never_ going to be able to explain the different subtleties between their two cultures and how he hadn't yet managed to identify them all, especially not to some man he'd only just not even met properly yet.

_Of course they don't pack it for you, idiot!_

After paying with the money Gandalf had given him, Harry left the shop as quickly as was polite with Pippin in the lead. They chatted innocuously as they made their way back to Gandalf. Pippin eventually led them through an out of the way street that he had sniffed out earlier on — Harry assumed the reason was because it led to the small stall that sold a variety of foods, as the Hobbit actually stopped to buy some for Second Breakfast, and, after smelling the deliciously roasted chicken, so did Harry. A minute later they stepped out of the street, Harry looking bemusedly at the item in his hand (he had had to sacrifice a galleon for their chicken, getting lots of little brass coins in return, including a small bronze urn. The merchant had not been able to resist giving it to him; had in fact pushed it at him with such urgent hands and a wide grin that Harry had had to accept it. Evidently, gold wasn't that common among the 'ordinary folk' in Gondor). The shortcut also took ten minutes off their walk and was good for avoiding the large market crowd that neither of them was particularly inclined to want to shove through. Both of them, they realised at the same time, got stared at and pointed to (in Pippin's case accidentally trod on) quite a lot by the people of Minas Tirith; Harry, because of his reputation, and Pippin because of his being a hobbit.

They munched on their chicken legs as they slumped down the paved incline of the sixth level. There were still a couple of lonesome stores scattered between the streets and Harry and Pippin stopped occasionally to have a poke at the expensive looking trinkets (the sixth level housing more nobility than the others) but they never purchased anything, even though Harry would have liked to buy something for Hermione. Although, he did not think she would appreciate beaded glass necklaces or musky perfumed scents (the bejewelled hairclips he had actually pondered over before dismissing them on the grounds that they were too showy for someone of Hermione's bookwork-like ilk). She would be more thrilled, instead, with a library book about the history of Middle-Earth. If Harry could somehow get his hands on one, translate it to English — the idea had definite possibilities.

They had just walked past the last of the market stragglers when a movement caught the corner of Harry's blind spot.

A woman had banged out of her front door, in one hand clutching a large brown pack (what Harry thought an ancient suitcase might look like), in the other a small child, who ducked behind his mother's skirts as he spotted Harry. The woman was clearly agitated and had also clearly packed for a very far away trip. She dumped her pack haphazardly amongst the others in a small cart that was attached to a pony. She then bundled up the boy and dumped him, too, on the luggage — albeit, in a less haphazard way — before grabbing the pony's reigns and urging him along the path. The boy continued to stare at Harry as the cart trundled down, his grey eyes dark and too full of something that Harry could not identify at present, only knowing that the look caused an uncomfortable feeling to settle in his throat.

The entire scene made Harry confused and wary, and he could not help but think of the cold weight along the base of his stomach that had been there since he'd first stepped into Minas Tirith, but he shook it from his thoughts, content to listen to Pippin instead.

The hobbit babbled on inanely as they walked, Harry not quite paying as much attention as he ought to have done. He kept noticing little things around him: hands sharpening weapons, worn eyes glaring, a child crying, another staring. People, whose eyes had looked blank only the day before, now looked frightened. Expectant.

He saw many people with packs.

"They know Denethor's being an idiot," he whispered.

". . . and I said to him, I did — what was that, Harry?"

"What?"

"Who's being an idiot?"

"Oh." Harry blushed. "Erm, nobody."

Pippin stared for a while, then seemed to nod subconsciously. "Everybody is preparing," he said solemnly. "In their own way."

Harry looked down in shock, not acquainting with this much more maudlin Pippin. "For what?"

"Dying, I expect."

It hit Harry suddenly like an unexpected thunderbolt, and he actually stopped in his place without meaning to. All he'd recently scene — the sad boy with the old eyes, and the tense atmosphere — flashed through the forefront of his brain like a fast-forwarded film.

Why hadn't he thought of it before?!

His grin, when it came, was as wide as the feeling in his stomach. It seemed quite obvious to him now, what he had to do, even if he might take him a while to do it — it was just going to have to be a risk he'd have to take. And he would have to ask for Gandalf's help . . . yes, it _would_ work.

"Why are you smiling like that?" asked Pippin curiously.

"I've just had a really brilliant idea," said Harry.

"Good. We could all do with one of those," Pippin said. "What is it?"

Harry started laughing and clapped Pippin on the shoulder. "I'll have to speak to Gandalf first, and once we've worked it all — and we _will_ work it out — I'll tell you."

"Tell me what?"

But Harry had already begun walking.

Pippin began hurrumphing to himself. "If that is the way you want it, I suppose I can wait . . ." Then began another monologue on the differences between Helm's Deep and Minas Tirith, Harry nodding at the appropriate moments distractedly. Pippin spoke of the history of Gondor (what he had gleaned from what little time he'd spent with Beregond), how Minas Tirith was before called Minas Arnor, how it had a sister city near Mordor under the Mountains of Shadow (Minas Ithil) that had been a sort of watch tower but that the Ring-Wraiths had taken over and renamed Minas Morgul before anybody could really watch for anything. Of course, there was much more to Gondor than Pippin could, at present, bring into the conversation, having been promised a long talk and tour by Beregond later that afternoon, whereupon he would learn more and then pass it along to Harry.

Pippin could (and did); however, talk more about the things he had already seen. Harry tuned him out after he started speaking about the founding of Gondor — the hobbit sounded remarkably like Binns suddenly — but was quickly brought back out of his daze when Pippin asked him how he was going with his transformation. At first Harry was stunned, wondering _how_ on Earth Pippin had found out, but he got over his shock quickly enough and started explaining.

Harry admitted to Pippin that he was half way through the process already and was going to try to continue but didn't know if he should as there were far more important things going on at the moment.

"Don't think like that!" Pippin scolded him exuberantly, his little face shining with pleasure. "Why, you are the greatest wizard in Middle Earth — do not tell Gandalf I said that, please thank you — and you can do anything. You cannot give up now." Ever since Pippin had heard of Harry's defeat at Helm's Deep he had become surprisingly (if not obsessively) optimistic that Harry could do just about anything and still come out with both feet intact and smelling of victory. It cheered Harry up that someone could have so much faith in him, and also strove to feed his ego somewhat, to the point where he had actually started thinking the hobbit may be right. And it was not as though Pippin was obsessed with Harry, like, say, Colin Creevey. The hobbit was genuinely offering him advice. And if his eyes shone a little too happily while doing so who was Harry to try and dismiss it?

"All right. I'll do it. I'll find the time to practise. Maybe just before I fall asleep, like when I was trying with my Occlumency," Harry mused.

Pippin patted his shoulder.

After walking for another five minutes they finally made it to Gandalf, who had been waiting for them impatiently in their quarters. Harry tried not to look to eager or stupid as he pondered over his previous revelation and how to go about telling the other wizard.

"What took you so long?" he demanded as Harry handed over the pipe-weed.

Harry was taken aback. "I had to go and find Pippin first."

"Ah yes, Pippin Took, I have work for you to do. Follow me. You as well, Harry."

Pippin and Harry looked at each other, but followed the wizard out the door.

A short while later Harry and Gandalf watched Pippin from their nook behind an archway as the hobbit climbed the rock surface to light the beacon at the top.

"Not to criticise you, Gandalf, but why didn't you just ask me to do it?" Harry said, eyes not leaving the climbing hobbit. "It would have been far less trouble. I can fly there with my broom _and_ I can become invisible."

Beside him Gandalf sighed, not unkindly. "This has nothing to do with you, young Harry," he said. "This is Pippin's chance to redeem himself; in my eyes and, most importantly, in his own for having looked into the Palantir." He stared thoughtfully up at the little climbing figure, his long beard swaying a little in the wind. "Do not deny him this feeling of self-worth. Sturdier and nobler hobbits there were than Pippin, but none so stubborn or foolhardy. He needs this."

Harry understood. He had thought the same himself.

Pippin's climb seemed to take an age, possibly because both Harry and Gandalf were anxiously awaiting the outcome. Harry shifted a little from foot to foot as Pippin's first attempt to light the beacon failed. His second was a complete success, though, and both wizards visibly relaxed as the hobbit began the long climb back down the rock surface.

"You're absolutely sure war is going to come to Gondor?" Harry asked, knowing what the answer was going to be.

Gandalf threw him a slightly puzzled look. "Did you not see it yourself when you looked into the Palantir?"

"No," said Harry.

"My mistake," said Gandalf, visibly disconcerted. "But did not Pippin see it? Why do you ask at all?"

"It's just — I've been thinking about some things, things that could improve the city's defences."

"Oh?" Gandalf turned to him, leaned on his staff. "What things?"

Harry drew a deep breath, memory briefly flashing to the lost little face he'd spotted hidden behind his mother's skirt, which had given him the idea to begin with. "We were ill-prepared in Helm's Deep. We almost came too late to help and it all happened so suddenly. Dumbledore's wards held for a while, but even then . . ."

"You wish to place wards?"

Harry shook his head. "No, no wards, I wouldn't have the first clue how to cast them anyway — and I can't take the chance that something magical would be there to neutralise them like last time." At Gandalf's puzzled look Harry raked a hand through his hair. He wished he could explain better but he'd never been very good with words. Especially words using the Middle-Earth dialect. "I mean other things. Things that might help. I have somewhat of an idea as to what I can do, but I'll have to go away for a bit."

"What _are_ you planning?"

Harry smiled at the wizard's demandingly inquisitive tone. "I need you to tell me if there are any safe places here. Or anywhere in Middle Earth."

"Elf havens, perhaps, would be the safest."

"Please tell me you don't mean Lothlorien?" Harry tried to keep the grimace off his face, ignoring the uncomfortable feeling that he'd just betrayed Galadriel and Celeborn, whom he was quite fond of.

"No," said Gandalf, bemused. "Rivendell is a house for the homely. Lord Elrond is used to welcoming Men into his Halls. Lothlorien will not welcome so many Men as would Rivendell. If at all, I am sorry to say."

"Figures," Harry muttered.

"However," Gandalf said, raising his voice slightly, "these are suspicious times and if you go there and bring Men there — as I suspect you wish to do, though I cannot imagine how you would go about doing it — you will have to explain yourself and their presence. A difficult task even for someone of your far-reaching reputation — which I am not sure has even reached so far as Rivendell yet."

"You could write them a letter," Harry argued, almost tentatively.

"I could." Gandalf sighed and clucked his tongue. "In fact I probably should."

"You will?" Gandalf nodded, and Harry grinned. "I'll get you parchment. But first I have to stop a mother and son from leaving."

"I shouldn't worry," said Gandalf.

Harry, who had turned with the attention of going, froze. "What d'you mean?"

Gandalf reached into his pocket and removed his pipe, sticking the end into his mouth. "They will not be able to get through the main gates," he explained. "The guards won't allow it."

"Because they'll be safer inside the city?" Harry guessed.

"Hmmm," said Gandalf.

"Then why bother trying to go out in the first place?"

"They are simple people, Harry. They are — forgive the term — unlearned." Gandalf gestured to Harry with his pipe, staring pointedly at the tip. Harry grinned and tapped it with his finger, lighting it. Gandalf could have done it himself, of course, now that he was head of his Order and far more powerful, but it was easier for Harry whose magic never got exhausted. "Mothers with young children are known to be the most foolish of people or the most courageous when faced with a demanding situation."

Harry nodded. "I see."

"Yes, rather like hobbits in that respect."

"You mean . . .?" he trailed off. _You mean Pippin?_ Harry thought the words but didn't say them. "You mean just one hobbit, don't you?" _Or possibly two_, he amended, thinking of Merry.

"Not precisely, as they are _all_ very untroubled and cheerful as a race. For centuries they have gone unnoticed by the world while tucked in their little nook, living almost apart from Middle-Earth. This has given them a very carefree nature, unknowing about what horrors the world can and does disgorge. But Pippin is young still, for a hobbit." That long white beard seemed to sigh as its owner did. "I really do love hobbits, you know," Gandalf said earnestly.

Harry sputtered in a kind of half snort half cough of severed laughter at the unexpectedness of that statement. "So do I. I've noticed they're a very . . . happy people, too." he said. "At least from what I've seen in Frodo and Sam and Merry and Pippin. It's good. We should all be that way."

"Not all the time, I think," warned Gandalf, a little sternly. "For if there is only happiness there is no room to grow as a person or as a people. We become slaves to our bliss and thus uncaring of the world outside our own emotions. And so, our happiness becomes our enemy, betraying us most foully in the end."

Harry blinked. "Wow," he said. "But hobbits aren't like that."

"Their hearts seem too big for their bodies sometimes. They often mean well, although . . ."

Gandalf didn't need to finish. Harry understood.

"Now!" boomed Gandalf suddenly, and Harry jumped. "Have you given any thought to your transformation?"

_Pippin actually helped me._ "I'm going to continue studying."

"As long as you gave it a lot of thought."

"I did."

"Very good."

xxxxxxx

A/N: When Gandalf explains to Harry about the 'creatures of old', I have quoted (not completely directly) from chapter six, book five of _The Lord of the Rings_.


End file.
